I'm your boy, your 21st century toy
by Ahshe'sgone
Summary: Maka and Soul exist together and they try figure out how they want to go about it.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! Here's a little of Maka and Soul filtered by my perception. Hope you like it!

* * *

He comes back, always looking starved and parched. Sometimes he's injured. Other times he's not. He comes with requests of food, water and alcohol. Requests to the wall. He comes in torn clothes and bloody fingernails. He comes with tangled hair and steps in the bathroom as if the bathroom was made for only him to step into.

He kicks his shoes off and they land just outside the bathroom door. He undresses. Throws his clothes anywhere. They always land on his shoes, or on his one shoe; without fail. Steps in the shower. Turns the temperature to boiling. He washes everything off. Everything fucking stings. Makes his skin new again.

Steps out. In his towel, he picks up his clothes, shoes and headband, goes into her empty bedroom, takes out needles and threads. He comes in the living room. Leaves everything but his shoes on the table; those he takes to the doorstep. Slaps his forehead. He can't sew them while they're dirty like that. Sighs. He puts them in the wash.

Comes back into the living room. He swears a bit. He could have taken his shoes off before he fucking entered the house. There's muddy footprints all over. He looks over to her. She's pretending to be asleep. Even so, he's going to try and keep it quiet.

He's so tired of mopping floors. He's so tired of cleaning up after himself all by himself. He can't ask for favours now. "_Good_ boys deserve favours", she had once said. He can't ask for any favours. When did she spoil him so? Never. How come he's become so spoiled?

She broke her right arm. Fractured her left. He wasn't there. How did she break her arm? How did she break one arm and fracture the other? Why the hell wasn't he there? What the fuck was he doing while her bones were cracking? She won't tell him anything. He can't even remember what- Really, what the _hell_ was he doing that day? What happened? Every night he asked himself that. Like a mantra. But no, he didn't ask her. He wouldn't.

Would it be fine to use just water to wipe away the mud? It would probably go all over the floor. Does he use a floorcleanerthingthatsmellsl ikeartificiallime? Where do they keep that?

* * *

She's pretending to be asleep. Asleep in the armchair in the living room. Her book is on her lap. She's breathing calmly, calculatingly slow. Her eyebrows twitch with every noise that indicates he's there. She'd been staring at the same word for two hours. Now she can't remember which word that was. She's been having a shitty day. She's been having a shitty last three weeks. Stein said he doesn't know how long till she can use her right arm again. She'd have to go see him every week. At least the cast was off her left arm. Just bandages left all over. She went there in the morning. Her roommate was sleeping. He'd come home late the night before.

Stein said he could open it up some more and see what was really wrong, now that the bleeding had stopped. He did. No infection. Just stubborn bones. Spirit said get well soon. Soul said nothing. He wasn't with her, he was home, asleep. He hadn't said anything. Not since he muttered 'sorry' on the way home from Stein's office. If they hadn't been on the motorcycle she wouldn't have heard it. She had the wind to thank for carrying that small word from his mouth to her ears. And the years of being on the vehicle behind him that allowed her to keep her balance on it without using her arms. And her disinclination to hug him every time they had to be somewhere fast.

* * *

He puts the mop where he'd found it. He wants some tea. Why? So that she gets up and criticizes his tea-making skills? So that she gets fed up with him being in the same room she is 'trying to sleep' in and go to her room? So that she does anything?

Maka is mad. She isn't mad at Soul. She is mad at herself. She is mad at herself because she's handicapped herself, being stupid and useless without her weapon. A very non-soulless, non-inanimate object-like, breathing, human, mortal and susceptible to injury weapon. And now he is mad at her. And he won't talk to her.

He puts down his cup on the table and sits cross-legged on the couch, looking at her pretending to sleep. He is a five-year-old. A five-year-old frightened of silence and deliberately loosely shut eyes.

Soul is pissed. He isn't pissed at Maka. He is pissed at himself. He is pissed at himself because she's handicapped herself, being unprotected and alone in a fight with a freaking creature from hell. Unprotected. A meister without a weapon. She is mortal, susceptible to injury. And he is made of steel and he was off doing something else. He left his partner alone to go do something he can't even recall. And now she is pissed at him. And she won't talk to him.

He blows on his tea. It smells sweet. It smells promising. Just bringing it close to his face warms him up. Sets the cup on the table. Looks at her some more. Brings it close to his mouth. Looks at her some more. Her hair is down. Her legs are crossed at the ankles. Her brows are slightly furrowed. She was reading short stories. Short stories are all she's been reading these past three weeks. Gets up, goes into the kitchen, empties the tea into the sink.

"Maka. Bed," he quietly says.

She opens her eyes. Tries to look bored.

"Soul. Bed," she says and makes her way to her room.

* * *

She doesn't bother thinking about trying to get her hair into pigtails. She's got the putting-clothes-on bit down. No need to get her hair into pigtails. People can recognize her without them.

When she goes out of her room, the house is empty. His door is open. Wide open. His room is empty and the window is letting a whole lot of wind mess all the papers on his desk. It's freezing. She steps in. On her way to the window, she picks up a stray T-shirt of his, left on the well-made bed. Holds it in front of her. She can't fold it properly with her 54% functional left arm. Leaves it on his chair. Closes the window. Picks the T-shirt half way up, pulls it closer to her nose. Don't sniff it. Don't sniff it, sociopath. Sets it down.

"Stupid Soul. You're lowering the temperature," she mutters. Great, talk to yourself.

* * *

The strawberry milkshake is making his hand numb. Driving a motorcycle one-handedly is probably against the law. But Maka isn't here to point it out. And whose fault is that? And a strawberry milkshake in the middle of winter. She always wants strawberry milkshakes. He has to talk to her. He wants to tell her he's sorry. And he knows she's thinking things like wanting to be more independent and be able to fight off any foe alone, just because she's Maka. And she's so hardworking. And she's awesome. That's why she doesn't need a weapon to protect _her_. She needs a weapon that _she_ can protect so that she can get stronger and have a motive for trying hard. They've had that discussion a thousand times. She doesn't need strawberry-milkshake-flavoured statements from him. She doesn't need to wield him every time she's facing a screeching, drooling, slimy creature that's eyeing her very soul. She doesn't need Soul. She's Maka Albarn.

He gets home and she's watering the plant in the hallway. Her cast is untouched, white. She won't let anyone write anything on it. It's stupid. She said it's stupid. Black Star wanted to leave his mark on it. But he got brushed off silently. No Maka-chop. Obviously.

She's sitting in front of the plant as she's carefully watering each and every leaf. She has headphones on. Her back is turned to the door so she can't see him. He takes a moment to look at her crouching figure and her let-down hair. He's used to it now. He knows she'll be startled if he touches her back but her arm is slightly shaky and there's no room at her sides.

"Maka?" he tries. Her music is not too loud. She's probably thinking about something. "Maka?" he says, louder.

"Soul?" she says and turns around, looking rather expressionless. Surprise, surprise.

"Uh- I thought you didn't...I can do that," he says.

"Do what?"

"Water it?"

"But I already did."

"Oh."

She stands up using only her leg strength. He takes the watering can from her grip and sets it down. Looks at what is causing the lack of feeling in his hand. She looks at it too. Raises an eyebrow. He looks at the floor. Curses, takes his shoes off, hands Maka the frozen drink.

"Thought I'd be very considerate and get you a frozen drink in this late November weather," he says. Clever Soul. O-hoho, you're so clever. Sarcasm is the way to go when talking to a bitter Maka. Well done.

She extends a bandaged arm and tilts her head. She's not being cute. She's reading the label on the container. She won't drink any ice-cream beaten in milk. Satisfied, she takes it in her left hand and sets it on her right-arm cast. It's balanced against her stomach.

"Thank you," she says. Turns around. "You'd left your window wide open."

"Maka?" he tries again.

"Soul?"

"I'm sorry."

"You've said that before." He sighs. "On the motorcycle, I mean," she adds. He looks up. His shoulders drop an inch.

"Still, I'm so sorry."

"It was my fault. I was being immature," she says.

What? Is she lying?

"No, I'm not," she says. "Don't look at me like that, I'm not lying."

She shakes her head. Walks to the kitchen and sets the shake on a counter. She leans against the nearest wall.

"I'm mad at you for not talking to me for so long," she says, looking down.

"I know," he says.

"You won't be there always, Soul. I can't get mad at you for being partly absent for three weeks. You won't always be so near or so available."

"I'll always be here," he pathetically says. His voice is whiny, juvenile. Not cool.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hope you like it! Tell me what you think, if you want and if you have the time.

* * *

Maka hated how she'd come to know Soul. She wished she could have met him on her own, in her own pace, without the variables of having to learn what the Scythe he turned into felt like. To feel it herself, to weigh it in her mind, to savor the feel of living metal in her palm for the purpose of using it to dodge, charge and successfully slice. She wanted to meet him later on, to get to know him in a time where she had been fully formed as a human being. To challenge his wits. She wanted every inch that got them closer to be their own personal achievement.

She hated that they were forced to get to know each other. It was obligatory. It was schoolwork. Getting along with him served the greater good. Soul and Maka were doing great, wow, such a team! Such a good combination! Kishin eggs don't stand a chance!

She wanted to take her time. While away hours and days with him for no reason at all. Only because they wanted to. Feel what his skin, metal or human, felt like on hers in her own time.

The gloves were the only rebellion she allowed herself. All those thoughts were products of her idle female mind. They should be stored away and not be visible in everyday life.

Now she's just grateful she got to meet him at all. Growing up has changed her views. It's too hard to meet someone that's actually someone you'd want to meet. Thanks Shinigami that he paired them up, every day. Well, every week at least. If he did at all. And school doesn't last forever. Battle partners don't stay the same forever.

Growing up has changed her views. She can do what she wants now. He can also. There's nothing but functionality and habit that ties them together now. Functionality and habit don't last a lifetime.

* * *

There's a cat on the kitchen counter. Said cat is on a piece of paper, looking at it intently. One would think it was reading it.

In neat handwriting the note starts:

_Soul. I had a nightmare last night. I came to wake you but you wouldn't budge._

In rushed handwriting it continues:

_Liar. I'll buy you chocolate chip cookies. I'll bring them home tonight._

At the end of the page it reads:

_Blair. Off the counter, please._

The cat hops off and takes a turn about the room. The window in the living room has been left open and the curtains are completely blown out of the way. The couch is perfectly wrinkle-free as if no one has ever sat on it. A glass that has been left on the table has a coaster under it. Looks like Soul's been feeling guilty.

As Blair jumps from the open window to a nearby roof, Maka wakes up in her room. She can tell the house is empty. She can tell Soul left early to go to another vague mission she won't ask about. Of course, when she went off to a vague mission Soul didn't know about, she came back with a bone sticking out of her arm.

* * *

"You can't go on being so immature. Both of you," Blair says as she's brushing stray hairs out of Maka's perfect middle part.

"Mmm," Maka answers. She's going to rejoice in the fact that she's getting her pigtails back for a day. There's nothing else that she should be thinking.

"You're supposed to be the inseparable ones here. Black Star and Tsubaki, Kid and Liz and Patti, they're supposed to falter compared to your closeness." She's now tying a hair band around half of Maka's hair. She's straightening the Shinigami badge so that the pointy ends go into the hair and keep it in place.

"Mmm."

"I'll go buy milk." The pigtails are perfectly done. Fully symmetrical. Kid won't get to see them. Maka is staying home today. It's Sunday. Why Soul is on a mission on a Sunday she doesn't know.

"Why?" Maka asks.

"I finished it in the morning and you'll need it for tonight's dinner."

"So you read the note." Maka closes her eyes and waits for an answer.

"I read the note," Blair says. She sounds more serious than normal.

"You sound more serious than normal." Maka looks at Blair as she's taking her hat off. She sets it on the piano and starts brushing her purple hair with her fingers. Long black human nails don't painfully dig into her scalp.

"I read the note, nyah," Blair offers with a half-smile on her face. Transforms into cat form and jumps onto Maka's lap. Maka places her cast in front of the cat and it starts to purr. Confined spaces are the best to sleep in, Blair always says. Bu-tan hates stretching out, it makes her fur all pointy, she says. Blair wiggles her tail for a second or too and as Maka is making herself more comfortable on the couch, turning her head upward to stare at the ceiling, the cat stops purring and starts breathing evenly. See, Blair's really asleep.

* * *

The movements are all so wrong. The sound effects are fucking wrong. The grip is killing him and he's been actually trying hard just to stay in weapon form since the fight started. Stein's hands are coarse and all he can think about is getting this over with. His huffs are fucking distracting. Hadn't he quit smoking? Damn it all. Maka must have repeated that saying about sound souls and bodies fifty times or more.

The sound effects seem forcefully ripped out of an old school Marvel comic. Damn it all. He's feeling like a sidekick of some semi-villain, fighting full-fledged villains for no reason whatsoever. Oh wait, we're saving the world.

He's not even holding him right. He's not even swinging him right. Everything's in angles and zigzags. And this fucking mission. Could this creature _smell _any worse?

And Maka is left back at home and he needs to go buy her cookies and sugary sweets to make her feel better. Feel better about herself, feel better about him. Cause there surely is no other way to mend this three-week gap in the partnership. She's probably bored of reading short stories in paperbacks. She's probably pissed she can't hold a book properly. Keep a hardback open with one injured hand.

This resonance is shit. Shit. Shit.

And without any form of physical violence coming from her part, he can't even tell what she's thinking. And stupid Blair slept in his room. Couldn't she have gone to sleep with her? She wouldn't have to lie about nightmares if she wasn't left alone with her useless limps all night. He wouldn't have to decode her words and lies if Blair was with her when he was gone. He wouldn't have to decode her words and lies if he was with her instead of being gone.

"SOUL! SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FOCUS!"

Yes, Professor Stein. Yes. I'll shut up. I'll shut up. That's what I'm so good at.

* * *

He takes his shoes off this time, leaves them outside of the house. He's not mopping the floors again. He's not mopping any floor again. At least not mopping any floor whose need for mopping was caused by him.

Pushes his key in the lock. The door clicks open. Pigtailed Maka staring at him. Pigtailed Maka motioning him to step into the house, lowering the zipper of his jacket and wanting him to take it off. He leaves his strangely clean backpack on the floor. Pigtailed Maka doesn't utter a word. That's fortunately simply because she has a toothbrush in her mouth.

Soul goes to the kitchen and pours himself water. Drinks three glasses. Maka stares.

They both walk towards the bathroom. Perfectlypigtailed Maka heads for the sink and hairallovertheplace Soul heads for the washing machine, once again. He starts taking clothes off while Maka is looking at him with some bangs over her eyes. He sits on his heels, clad in boxers and socks, and starts filling the washing machine. Maka spits the toothpaste from her mouth towards the sink. She washes out any remaining paste by tilting her head in an impossible angle in order for her mouth to be where gravity will lead the tap water. Her bangs fall to one side and get wet.

"Be careful not to get any water on your arms," Soul says. He can almost see his words going down the drain along with the contents of her mouth. She flicks the tap switch off and looks at him expectantly.

"I'm going to jump in the shower real quick and we'll have dinner."

"Can I stay?" Maka asks.

"Stay."

Soul steps in the shower after taking off his socks. Maka sits on the floor by the door. She hears shuffling and an arm pokes out from the closed curtain, holding a pair of plain black boxers.

"Could you put them in with the others, please?"

He blindly hands them to her and she stands up, puts them in the washing machine and closes the lid. Pours detergent and sits back down. She's heard him shower a thousand times. Probably more than a thousand.

"I missed you today," she says.

"I missed you today too," he says, his voice lower in volume.

He starts washing his hair and she keeps on staring at her feet. At least they work like they're supposed to. She can only stretch them out a little but she's grateful for the space on the floor that she can sit comfortably in. He turns the water back on. Off. Sound of shower gel being pumped out. Sounds of his palm against his wet skin. Maka wouldn't dare blush. Water back on.

"Soul?" she softly calls.

"What?" he answers in the same tone.

"Soouul." Her voice is whiny. It's whiny and childlike.

He doesn't really want to decode that.

She sniffles.

Water off. Arm out of the curtain grabs a towel hung nearby. He wraps it up around himself, hiding the most obvious cryptic parts of him. Shower curtain out of the way, white-haired boy out of the shower leans down to reach crying girl's level.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, taking a pigtail in hand.

"No." Sniffle. "Kim gave me these little blue spheres. You squeeze them, they go poof, you inhale and it's a painkiller."

Soul decides to leave said pigtail be and hug Maka instead. She lets her head fall on his shoulder.

"Soul, you're wet," she says and he can hear a smile making a shy appearance on her face. He caresses her hair a bit. Trying to be a calm, older-brotherly character than will make her feel safe and all that shit.

"Stein is a shitty meister. I wanted to leave the moment I turned to Scythe form. Maka. How long till you heal?" Fail.

"I don't know. Stein doesn't know. My left arm will be fine in a week or so, though," she says, getting the cast out from between them so that she can get closer.

He smells of soap. Blah, you can't have it all.

* * *

"So, chocolate chip cookies and milk," he says. He has no excuse for saying it, really.

"Yeah. Get up. Get dressed."

He gets up and pulls Maka with him. She straightens her clothes and steps out the room. Waits for him to obey her orders so that they can finally sit across from each other, eating a meal not meant to be eaten for dinner. So that she can stare him down and hold back what she wants to say and play tough and not smile at him and tell him how much she loves him.

He can't wait to pull those hair bands out off her hair. Shinigami's mask's teeth are fucking digging into her hair.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Have a good rest of the day (and stuff).


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Here, some more. Thank you in advance! Enjoy~

* * *

Maka is standing just outside of Soul's shut door. She can't knock. She could use her head but that would signify desperation, which is a feeling unknown to her. So she uses her knee. Carefully. Leans against the door.

"Soul?" she calls. Pause. Pauuuse. No answer. She calls again. "Soul? Are you up yet?"

Yes, he's up. He's up. Maka alarm clock. You can't smash it to shut it up. You don't really want to. "I'm up."

He yawns and checks the time. There's ten minutes for a shower.

He runs five bony fingers through white hair, yawns and opens the door. "Morning," he says.

There's no ladle in her grip. Hmm. Of course there isn't. Days of 'WAKE UP SOUL, BREAKFAST READY, _WAKE UP_!' have been over for some time now. Days of 'Soul? You up? Wanna go a bit earlier and swing by the bakery for breakfast?' have started. This one's the fourth. Quite less economical but far more pleasant to his ears. Well, the academy is actually paying for it, because of Maka's injury. Oh, yes. Partly or completely non-functional body parts and/or partners facing depression caused by their lack of action due to injury has perks. Whoopty fuckin' doo.

Maka is already dressed and brushing her hair while watching Soul. He's brushing his teeth and watching her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looks slightly better. They both look slightly better. Finished brushing shark-teeth, he goes into the shower, closes shower curtain and shoots his boxers right into the laundry basket. Maka is still idly brushing her hair, absentmindedly looking in the general direction of the bathroom. When watching him shower became a habit he doesn't know. Probably when he started being decidedly cautious about not walking in on her dressing or undressing. Maka likes to keep the balance.

* * *

In the classroom she's abandoned the honour student pose of sitting close to the desk with her pen and notebook ready. Instead she's leaning on the front part of the desk on the level above her, with her arms on her lap, looking soulless and bored. Who knew Maka's interest stopped right when the prospect of action disappeared. She is being pessimistic. Why learn about laws of the witches when all she can do is sit in a classroom and hear about them?

Soul has also abandoned his post next to her and has instead sat in the row behind her. He made a silent agreement with Tsubaki and Kid that they would sit next to her so that he or Black Star wouldn't clumsily bump her arm or make some other equally disastrous slip. He's practically half-laying on the desk. His arms are hanging above Maka's head and his head is conveniently positioned so that she fits his field of vision. He randomly picks up strands of her hair and lets them fall again. She doesn't mind. The miniscule pulling in her hair is making her feel loved.

* * *

During lunch she came and sat right next to him, her shoulder touching his and all. He asked her what, she said she feels like a girl taking advantage of the warmth he has to offer in the winter months. He was tempted to tell her that she _is _a girl but he didn't (because he didn't want to ruin it, revealing to her that she's young and she's allowed stupid thoughts about boys as she would put it). She was almost snuggling up to him, in a sitting way. He loved it. He'd fucking missed her smell. He told her and everyone looked up at him for a second, but then they brushed it off as a weird thing Soul and Maka do and resumed eating. She smiled and said that he was all words.

Black Star caught up with him in the hallway later and told him that he was, like, so smitten. Soul said he knew. Black Star said fuck it, Maka was completely smitten too. Soul said he knew that too. Black Star said fuck it man, what was he going to do? Soul said he didn't know.

* * *

On the way back home Maka and Soul are holding back declarations of love or lust or whatever. It's irritating.

"We have to stop," Maka says into Soul's ear.

"I know," Soul says, turning his head to his right.

"Can't we just keep it up till I take the cast off?" she asks in a monotone voice.

"And then what?"

"Then we stop. And we start being like we were before."

See, meisters are supposed to never fool around with their weapons. And weapons are supposed, as the more non-master-like of the pair, to never ever ever fool around with their meisters. Of course, you're allowed to peep and tease incessantly. But no feelings.

Shibusen already questions the safety of pairing two people together. Meister-weapon relationships are supposed to be close. They live together, eat together. They grow closer. Then the real missions start. Each holds theirs and their partners lives right in their hands. They grow even more closer. They fight together, train together, go to the same classes. They become a dual entity. If one leaves (_leaves_according to the academy; _dies_ in most cases, according to past events and reality), how can the other part keep operating effectively as a soldier of any rank for Shibusen?

And if they go a step further: Live together, eat together, fight together, train together, go to the same classes, sleep together, that's it. That's where the academy draws the line. Something goes wrong, they've spent a good part of their lifetime completely enveloped in their weapon-meister relationship and then half of what they recognize as themselves is gone. They've supposedly substituted every other relationship with every other person, how do they go on?

And does it sound too melodramatic and carefully thought out to you? It is. It's information for the masses.

They stop at a red light. Soul turns around and kisses Maka. It's not the first time. It's not a real kiss. It's not even on the mouth. He just kissed whichever part of her was closer. Maka maneuvers her cast to hug Soul awkwardly and uncomfortably for her. Still, she does.

Who cares about Shibusen rules? Neither Soul and surprisingly nor Maka, as it seems.

* * *

The first year Maka and Soul became partners she has forgotten about. It always feels like a parallel universe in her mind. Before Soul, she was a little kid doing whatever little kids do while thinking she was very mature for her age. She remembers that. It's so long ago, that she can allow it to be a place without Soul in her memory. But when they did become partners, she grew up from being a child instantly. (Now she feels completely grown up and so older than when she first met Soul, but she remembers the moment that she saw him she said to herself something like 'playtime's over kid'.) They didn't even resonate in that year.

What she really doesn't remember is being with Soul but not actually _being with Soul _the way she is now. Maybe there wasn't even a time when they didn't know each other, when they weren't exactly as they are now. Now there surely are many more fights and years to account for their closeness, but the current Maka doubts there was a time she didn't see through Soul.

One thing she definitely remembers though, is that a month after they became legitimate partners there was another girl that asked Maka to be her meister. Maka was about to kindly refuse (she was already paired with a very sharp in every way Scythe, sorry but thank you) when Soul popped up, gritting pointy teeth at the girl and pulling his meister towards the direction he had come from. He didn't even talk about it and it didn't even occur to Maka to ask. It was obviously the natural thing to do.

Now she's looking at him from the couch as he's playing a slow piece on the piano. He's not really playing anything. He's only using his right hand. He's making the melody as he goes. He isn't concentrating. He's thinking of something else. She will pretend she doesn't know what. Just for fun.

Blair is on the couch next to her in cat form. Lately, she mostly stays a cat inside the house. She has a lazy hand on top of Blair's head, alternatively scratching the cat's chin and flicking its ears left and right. Blair has her eyes half-open and is purring only indistinctly. The window is closed for once and there's pleasant heat in the living room. Maka's wearing one of Soul's old jumpers that don't fit him at all anymore (cause if he thought they would be even a bit acceptable on him, he wouldn't let her wear them without nagging about it) and a pair of shorts that Blair bought for herself and then decided that baggy gray shorts didn't look Blair-y enough. She is keeping away from any of her own long sleeved garments. She found three of Soul's zip up hoodies (ones he had just recently bought!) left outside of her door, the day after she got a bone sticking out of her skin. So she gave up her knit sweaters and girly cardigans whose sleeves didn't fit her impossibly huge cast, for Soul's clothing. She wouldn't claim she was reluctant to do so. And he doesn't nag about those.

Soul's melody is getting slower and slower, quieter and quieter as he keeps getting sleepier. At some point it just stops and she can almost hear him continuing the melody using sounds from the house and the street below and from the actual lack of notes from the piano. It's rare that he plays anything when people are around. And by 'people' she means Blair. She's the house cat. She's not part of Soul's soul. Maka can't help but let the corners of her mouth curve upwards in a disturbingly Soul-like grin.

"Bu," he calls. Blair looks up, half-lidded purple cat. "You go sleep with Maka, okay?"

He waves and yawns, discreetly but shallowly winks at Maka and goes into his room. He leaves the door open. He doesn't mean to be inviting or suggestive, he just doesn't want to leave the girls alone. The girls. Heh.

* * *

Blair's off from work tonight and she's staying over. As soon as Maka leaves the couch to push the piano stool closer to the instrument, Blair changes to human form and lazily walks to Maka's room to find some strangely non-revealing pajamas of hers that she keeps in Maka's wardrobe. Yawning, she puts them on slowly and falls on Maka's bed. Maka's thinking, everyone's yawning. She yawns.

Whenever Blair's actually at home during nighttime, she sleeps in cat-form more frequently than not. There's some nights when she likes to cuddle up with either Maka or Soul in human-form. Soul has gotten over the adolescent and unrealistic habit of showing lust via nosebleed. There are other ways to do that now. Maka doesn't know what goes on. Whatever's fine. She won't be disturbed. Blair hates sleeping alone anyway. Maka has concluded that this trait of hers has nothing to do with sex or anything sexual.

She goes under the covers and looks at Blair.

"Bu," she says. Blair opens one eye. "Do you remember how you told me that some things can make other things less special?" She mentally congratulates herself on her level of articulation.

"Mmm, like what things?"

Maka looks at her dubiously.

"Okay, okay. I remember," Blair says in a rushed voice.

"Did you say that just to say it, or was it a real actual warning?"

Blair looks over Maka's shoulder in thought. "It was something I believe is true. Jumping Soul _will _dump you two in the 'lovers' or 'fuck buddies' category. You seem to like having an undefined relationship," she says apologetically, partly waiting for Maka to push her off the bed. Violent Maka can never been forgotten. She's been pretty stoic lately. Still, a cat has to be alert.

Undefined relationship, yes. Because this is the only way to rebel against having a typical weapon-meister relationship, huh? Looks like she and Soul are much more stupid and immature than she thought they were. Even so, it's nonetheless a matter of pride. Does she give in now, just because she missed out on being with Soul for some time and it made her want much more of him right there and then? Right here and now? Or does she keep watching him drink water from bottles, stretch his arms, prance around the house in boxers, watch her, have five-year-old conversations with Black Star and feel her stomach painfully contract and flip?

When she told him she how much she loved him he said he loved her too. But it was the 'You know I love you too, don't make this harder than it has to be' kind of answer. And the kind she was hoping for and/but wishing against was the 'You know I love you too, now take off your clothes' kind. Because Maka Albarn wanted Soul and/but she was scared. Shitless.

* * *

Soul's eyes could burn a hole into that particular dot on the ceiling. He's sleepy, okay. Gets up from the piano. Sleepy. Brushes teeth. Sleepy. Says goodnight to Maka. Sleepy. Oh, Blair too. Sleepy. Throws the clothes from the bed to his desk. SLEEPY. Gets underneath the covers. Fuck. Hello, ceiling.

So what's the problem? He can blame it on leaving the piece jumping up and down in his brain unfinished. He can blame it on the heating of his room. He can blame it on the fact that someone who's survived on three hours of sleep a day for a about week doesn't have any real reason to fall asleep easily on the eighth day. He can blame it on his overactive mind. He can blame it on Maka. Ah. Maka. What about her? Her smell. His bike jacket smells like her. She hasn't ever even worn it. (Maka says that if you're cold, it's your own fault for not calculating your own tolerance to low temperatures. Never accept clothing someone else will catch a cold from not wearing.) But obviously always wear your roommate's clothes whenever you're in the house.

Her undone hair. It gives him an illusion that she's loosened up. That she's changed. But it's not her actual choice. He _can _always undo them himself, literally and figuratively. But it's Maka. She has to believe all of what she is was her own idea. And if she doesn't, if thoughts of influence from alienated parents/partners come to mind, she'll force it deep inside, untouched and, ironically, unharmed. But she's way above all that now. She's all-knowing. She's sincere.

He's all knowing. He's sincere. He won't lie to her or to himself. He wants to grab her, undress her and feel her (and bite her). But if he does that, they'll melt into some unidentifiable substance of wholeness and trust and love and happiness and all that healthy shit and they'll never be able to face the real shit. He's afraid she'll soften up, lose the ability to stick them with the pointy end and then smile triumphantly. He's afraid he'll lose it and go be an anonymous weapon of some anonymous average (pitiful) meister or give in to Oni.

* * *

Blair's asleep. In cat-form. She falls asleep as big-boobed temptation, but always drifts into the more comfortable and deep levels of sleep as small black innocent-looking kitty. It's 3 am and she can hear the distant buzz of music through headphones in the general quiet of the house. She gets up and tiptoes to Soul's room. Door's half open and she slips in without moving it. Soul's eyes are closed. Forced closed. He's awake.

She carefully sits on the bed and then lays down. Soul opens his eyes but doesn't pause the music. She knows the song. It's old. It's twice as old as they are. He turns on his side putting an arm underneath his head to make a hollow for the headphone. He can faintly feel her breath. She touches his hair and starts twirling the ends of strands. She's only wearing a dark tank top and shorter shorts now. He extends an arm half-way to her. He swears he can hear Oni rub his palms together in anticipation. He can almost hear him whisper: "Blame it on the black blood, blame it on me...heeheeheehee."

And Black-blood Soul likes Maka. Black-blood Soul likes Maka a lot. Black-blood Soul likes Maka too much.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading, here's a cookie :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello! Here's chapter four, hope you like it!

* * *

She usually prefers the right side of Soul's bed. She prefers to lay on her own right side and face Soul. Now she is awkwardly laying on her left side, keeping her right arm in a strange and at the same time protective position. She can use her other arm adequately. She's almost petting him. His hand is laying dead between them. He feels her looking for a way to take his earphones off without angering him. He takes his sandwiched arm out from beneath his head and slides the earphones back away from his ears and onto the floor where they land with a thump. His eyes are wide open now and he can feel his pupils dilate as he's trying to reach his full night vision capacity. Night vision Maka added to the situation doesn't help him keep his thoughts on the logical track.

She's acting as if he's not really there. She's petting his head as if he's asleep or something. She's not looking at him. Something right above his ear seems to be more interesting.

"You know," she whispers, "I really think you won't leave. I mean it's rational. You won't. It would just still make sense to me if you did." She scratches the side of her nose.

They've thought about this too much.

His dead hand comes back to life and transforms into a mini scythe. He uses the flat of the blade to nudge her hand away from his head and he sits up. He uses his human hand to roll Maka on her back and she lets him move her easily. He climbs on top of her and rests his weight on his knees. Her hair is spread out on his pillow and she's just staring at him, with only a spark of questioning in her eyes. He carefully picks up her right arm and uses sharp metal to cut a circular piece off the cast just below her shoulder. She takes a deep breath as he removes it. The hairs on her upper arm stand up as he kisses it softly, making a moist trail from her shoulder to her elbow. He's even more concentrated as he cuts off another piece of the cast which frees another third of her arm. Her skin feels reborn but tingly.

She sneaks an arm under Soul's leg and shuffles inside her shorts' pocket. Soul chose to be a gentleman (or a friggin' coward) and not place his crotch on hers. She takes out three blue beads and squeezes them all three. Places her fist just below her nose, opens it and takes a deep breath. Closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and reopens them.

Soul raises a brow at the amount and shrugs it off. Maka wouldn't overdose. He makes the last slit in her cast and pulls it open using his now human hands. He leans to the side and flicks the lamp on his desk on. Maka quickly shuts her eyes at the sudden light. He can now finally inspect the arm close up. It's still bruised and deathly colored in general. The shape is off, as well. He risks a touch and immediately expects her to flinch. She smiles.

"It's completely numb, I can't feel a thing," she says.

"How long does it last?" Soul asks, picking up fingers rested on the bed and checking their flexibility.

Maka looks at the clock. "I took way too much so probably till noon."

"Good," he says. "Cause you need a new cast in the morning." He runs a finger over a strangely placed bump below the elbow.

"Uh. Stein kind of did that." She sits up and relishes their proximity. Finds the light switch behind her and returns them to darkness. She sighs in relief. She nudges the bump with her left hand. "It's metal." She pauses. "You can't ask anything of Stein for free. Guiney pig," she says laughingly and points at herself.

Soul isn't listening. He's cancelled out hearing and seeing to boost his smell. Maka's saying something. She tilts her head, trying to get him to look at her. Ah, perfect angle. He leans forwards and pushes his lips onto hers. Such was the urgency he didn't think of anything but _gogogogo,goddamnitallfuckingpushherdo wn-doesn'tmatterhow._ He feels a heartbeat on his neck and pulls away where their mouths are not touching, but their noses are.

Maka blinks.

What?

Yes.

Yes, Soul Eater Evans. Yes.

She repeats his movements, open mouthed, feeling strong and masterful. She pushes Soul back, never breaking contact, and when he's off of her she smiles into the kiss and snakes a tongue between his parted lips.

He so so so tempted to bite her. Instead she shoves his tongue into her mouth and pushes her back. Maka yelps in whisper and giggles and he can feel the actual vibration of her sound waves in his mouth. His hands are everywhere and nowhere _practical_ cause he's making things neither easier nor more enjoyable. She can't seem to stop laughing.

He's pushing her back and she's pulling him forwards until she remembers that she needs to have control over how they move and she starts pushing and he starts pulling. His hands are awkward because he's probably trying to not touch her arm. She gives him a shove and falls flat on the bed. She climbs on top and puts her right arm behind her back.

"Here," she says.

"Do I touch freely?" he questions.

"Yesyoucompleteretard," she answers in one breath.

Soul's hands dart up to undo a poorly done ponytail as he's sitting up again. One finds its way to her chin, opening up her mouth more and the other finds the low collar of her top and pauses there. She's literally on his lap. His pajama pants are getting fucking uncomfortable. Maka notices and bravely focuses her attention to a hardening, um, uh, (blush), _something_ (stupid girl) that's poking her butt. Soul notices too and he abandons her lips to get to the soft skin of her neck and chew on it for a bit and think about chewing gum, before she flees the room to go make them some tea or something pointless of the sort. She puffs and makes a mental note to never puff again and pushes him down once more. The attention he's giving her neck is disorienting but she's Maka-on-a-mission as she dismisses all feelings of pleasure and wishes to just become a limp noodle and let him work her while she struggles to not die of excitement. She decidedly fits an arm between them and starts taking his shirt off. Soul flinches and bids their snogging goodbye.

Her fingers brush against skinny hollows and patchwork skin. She freezes. Oh shit shit shit shit. Stupid freaking hormone-driven horny excuse for a person.

"Maka, no," Soul deadpans.

"Shitshitshitshitshitshit," she chants as she's pulling her hair up, getting off of him, hugging him goodbye. "Sorrysorry Soul," she continues.

"Maka!" he whisper-shouts. "No! Stay!"

The door clicks shut. Maka's on the wrong side of it.

Shit. Shit. Her fucking guilt is making her act in a way that should make her feel _much more fucking guilty._

* * *

About three years ago, a very long and difficult mission was assigned to Maka, Soul, Black Star and Tsubaki. It all started normally, Maka and Black Star bickering non-stop, Soul and Tsubaki playing the peace makers. Then they arrived in the ghost town where their target was. What they didn't know, and neither did Shibusen, was that they were to have multiple targets. The town was a kishin community. How that worked, none of them found they cared enough to inquire about after the mission's conclusion.

They were outnumbered and they had to keep falling back to stay fit to fight and, hell, alive. Black Star refused to use Tsubaki in a spark of humanity amongst his numerous godly attributes and preferred to leave her outside of battle and use brute strength to fight off the insatiable monsters. Soul's whole body was hurting from Maka's loudness in their resonance. She was screaming at him, panicking and swearing at Black Star. She was wounded all over and even though she kept the pain under control herself, it was added up to Soul's own scratches and dents, amplifying his own pain torturously through their link. Maka also felt her own steeled nerves collapse as she picked up bits of what she was ignoring from her weapon. Soul was on the brink of drowning in his insanity so it made sense to her to yell at him to transform and stay the hell back right before the end of the battle. She ran to Tsubaki and motioned her to _change into_ _anything fucking remotely resembling a scythe, quick_. Tsubaki stupidly did and just as Maka heaved some sort of blade up, Soul saw her white shirt become red from blood gushing out of yesterday's proof they were in deep shit and ran to smack the ninja weapon out of his meister's grip before she fainted from loss of blood and became an easy victim for the last kishin to devour.

In an attempt to stab the screeching nightmare between the eyes with one hand and push Soul away with the other simultaneously, she nearly stabbed _herself_ between the eyes amidst her confusion caused by the breaking of several laws of physics resulting from her wielding a Japanese weapon used to being wielded by a freak of nature. Soul couldn't help but pop in between a speeding blade and her forehead, in scythe form. There was a moment when time stopped for Maka, after the sound of steel clashing with steel. The scythe soullessly fell to the ground and changed into blood-soaked Soul, Tsubaki transformed to keep Maka from falling too and Black Star punched the monster right into another dimension. Maka wasn't there. Maka wasn't there because she'd sent Soul to another dimension. Oblivious Black Star howled a yahoo before taking notice of the situation and promptly kicking life back inside of Soul.

With some seconds' delay, Stein and Spirit arrived to save the day in a dystopian whirl of déjà-vu. Maka stayed out cold for some hours and Soul received another Stein-got-to-me-before-my-peaceful-death-did badge, parallel to the one that had previously morphed Maka into a scared, tangled mess of guilt. She cried a lot in her state of unconsciousness but her eyes remained wide open and turned towards something no one else could see. When she woke up and saw that Soul was alive, she cried some more (a lot more) and clung onto him for dear life before she came to the realization that she'd caused everything. Then she shut up and never spoke a word for a while.

Soul made a point of telling her he didn't fucking mind on various occasions, that it was a weapon's job to defend their carrier and that she was being moronic and irrational. Maka didn't seem to listen. Her world had crumbled too many times to render her capable of sanity. Spirit talked to her a lot, explaining the dynamics of the whole world as he knew it, reassuring her and telling her that weapons are sturdy and strong and hard to kill. In the end, she was called to Shinigami-sama's floor and stayed there for long hours. When she came out, she was seemingly old Maka again and they continued on as usual. She was aware of Soul's mortality, as well as her own and she was all business in their missions.

Soul wouldn't die. And if he did, it wouldn't be her fault. And if he did, well, it wouldn't be the end of the world. That's what she said. (And really, he wouldn't die, would he? Death Scythes can't be reaped.)

* * *

Soul shoots up from the bed and strides to the closed door. He opens it and steps in the hallway to find Maka sitting on the floor, leaning on the wall.

"Maka. Stand the hell up and get dressed," he orders.

Maka doesn't budge. He grabs her by the waist and hauls her up. He wipes away drops of salty water from her face and pushes her against the wall.

"You idiotic, obsessed, fucking tiny-boobed and tiny-brained nerd," he accuses in whisper. "Don't you fucking leave in the middle of me getting lucky. I told you a thousand times. You're stupid. These cuts are a hazard of the trade. Grow the fuck up and let yourself go!" He's now shouting and his fists would be hurting from how he's tightening his grip on some imaginary object. _If _he was paying any attention to that.

Maka is looking up at him with watery eyes that show no surprise. She knows.

"It's fucking annoying when y-" Blair peeks out of Maka's door.

"Blair, go to bed," Maka pleads.

"Never mind," Soul spits out and he takes a step back. "Get dressed," he tells Maka again.

Maka looks at Blair apologetically and quickly throws some warm clothes on. Soul's by the front door with their coats.

* * *

The cold winter air is made at least eight times colder by the lack of sun. The moon is viciously smiling down at them as they're speeding on empty roads. The roar of the motorcycle's engine is almost deafening in contrast with the silence reigning in the city. Their surroundings gradually shift from tall buildings to empty lots to wild grass to trees. He's taking them up a hill, far from any other walking insomniac. Perfect place for a murder scene.

Soul parks his bike near a big tree and turns the key to switch off the engine. The now quiet roaring gives way to the complete lack of sound. Maka hates it when Soul gets off the vehicle before she does, because she's afraid she'll fall. He debates punishing her but she's swifter than him. He sighs and follows her to where the ground stops ascending and abruptly dives down. The drive calmed him down a little and now he can't find it in him to yell at her things she's heard before and she already knows anyway.

She lowers herself close to the ground and touches the grass. It's wet, even though it hasn't rained. The humid December air is making her skin crawl. She wraps her coat more tightly around her and hugs herself, purposefully pressuring her stupid broken arm. A couple more bruises won't make a difference. Stray branches crack on the ground as Soul slowly comes to stand beside her.

"I'm sorry," she softly says. "I know I've done this before but time goes by and I forget. I forget how it feels to see your scars and I become naive and cocky and it makes me think I'm entitled to touch you. But then I actually do and I hate myself all over again."

She turns to him. He takes a breath and opens his mouth to talk but she places a finger on his lips. "I know you don't think it's my fault. I know you think it's only natural that you'd have 'some battle scars', but Tsubaki's skin is perfect. She never suffered any damage like you did. Twice." Her voice cracks and she looks at Soul's hunched shoulders. He's cold.

"Tsubaki has a god for a meister," he says and smiles at her. "I'll tell you a thousand times, Death Scythes can't be reaped."

She snickers. And then she starts crying.

"Listen," he says, urgently. "I'll have none of that." He grabs her by the shoulders. "Vixen," he calls her and hugs her.

"I-I want you." She sniffles. "But if I get you, you won't last."

He would blush but fuck. "You're so stupid," he says. "I'm tired of having to tell you that. _You're_ supposed to be telling me that." She squeezes him some more. "Look, I want to go on missions, don't fuck up your arm more."

"You sleepy?" she asks.

"No," he says. "I'm hungry."

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it, thanks for reading, as always. :)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello again, hope you like this!

* * *

Stein whined about having to remake the cast and gave Maka a scornful look she wasn't used to being in the receiving end of. Soul laughed a little and Maka let him draw on her new cast. He drew striped panties. She settled for stepping on his foot.

She's being depressed and thoughtful again. Black Star is teasing her about the two pairs of panties she's wearing and she's looking straight ahead, expressionless.

"You're completely dumb. Who doesn't want my signature on any surface? Eh, Tsubaki?" Black Star says in volume disturbing to people a hundred miles away.

Tsubaki fidgets and flashes a shy smile at Maka. She accordingly smiles back.

"You should all tattoo my name on your arms," Black Star continues.

Soul eyes Maka as she's putting up a front of being annoyed by what Black Star is saying, just because that's what she usually does.

"Maka," he calls. She turns around. "Quick!" He motions her over and she doubtfully walks towards him. As soon as she comes within reach he lifts her up. Her feet lose contact with the ground and she's pulled out of her thoughts, immediately grabbing his arm to balance herself and fight him off. He grins and transforms the arm Maka's clutching into a familiar handle which doesn't belong to a Scythe.

"Oh, no you don't," Maka screams but they're already in the air and Soul's laughter comes in waves of vibrations that she can feel too perfectly.

"It's only your own fault," Soul says and darts forward.

* * *

Maka knows where he's taking her. She knows his ways and they're exactly on the same route as they were some dreaded years before.

She won't admit it but she quite likes gliding through the air and even though Soul is complaining that she's so much heavier with the cast on, she can't keep her eyes open. The freezing air feels curative and she can't help but trust him to lead the way without her being actually there. She doesn't know what the plan is. She knows, despite his aloofness and lack of any care in the world, he won't drive them to a dead end.

They're flying low. Maka's silent and Soul is absent-mindedly murmuring some song she'd swear is by Johnny Cash. In no time, she's humming along. How serene a moment can be, she thinks. She was essentially picked up and made to follow some idea in some other person's head and yet she feels so at peace.

He makes an abrupt dive and they're suddenly heading straight for solid ground, straight for crashing onto solid ground in a high angle. She doesn't falter. Three, two, one. He slows down and their course shifts to parallel to the ground. She braces herself and hops off before he stops. He transforms back to white haired Soul mid air and lands skillfully on his feet. They share congratulatory smiles with one another.

The place is empty. The town reinvents the term ghost town. Empty aging buildings and wild grass everywhere. Snow in patches blocks front doors of buildings and there's naught but unclassifiable animals to care. It's good to know there's life where malice was once gathered. As they slowly walk through the town, Maka bags her mittens and replaces them with battle gloves. Extends an open palm toward Soul. He takes it. She won't be able to fight, even if she needs to. Stubborn.

So they walk, hand in hand, smelling the air around them. Soul is literally smelling the air because it _tastes good_ and is also sniffing for any kishin stench. Maka is metaphorically smelling the air through soul perception and the clear quality of it escapes her. Her body heat is distributed in a gradient way. On her right is nothing, she's freezing. On her left is Soul, holding her hand. Making her too warm for comfort.

They reach the center of the town and pass it by. Now there's nothing but run-down buildings around. Sightings of animals and plants are sparse to non-existent. The town seems to be welcoming Maka. It's shifting to remind her of past battlefields.

Clouds overcast the sky and there's fog low above the ground. It comes as a surprise when they realize they've reached the very end of this ghost town. Maka turns around to leave, walk back where she came from, convince Soul to partly walk the way home (because flying is troublesome for many reasons she'd rather keep to herself), get home and change out of heavy clothes. Make them both a cup of hot chocolate, kick Bu-tan out and mix hers and Soul's aftertaste of the beverage together, guide him on the couch (because it's common ground) and dedicate the evening to making him grunt in pleasure (because he's too cool to moan). But she probably won't do all these things because Soul's tugging her arm, seeking to focus her attention on something else. Poor unlucky little Scythe.

He's pointing at a tall artifact consisting of a huge internal winding staircase going up higher than any of the other buildings and five floors you can clearly see the inside of. The external walls are full of holes and all windows that remain are devoid of glass. It's their fault. This building was where they'd decided to take shelter in during the short breaks from fighting. And what Maka and Soul are seeing now is a consequence of the wrath of dead creatures. Soul's stomach flips. He has digested parts of them. Still, he pulls his meister toward the open doors (or lack of any door of any kind) of the half-demolished building. She complies to the pulling, but only after sighing.

He takes her to the fifth floor. He surprisingly uses the stairs and not his ability to fly. When they step foot on the final floor, he stops and looks around. Maka would raise a quizzical brow but she finds herself unwilling to. She knows why they're here. She knows why Soul is looking at her expectantly. His arms are crossed but she doesn't know what he's shielding his chest from. Probably her excuses and stupidity. She wants to want to Maka-chop him but it doesn't feel like something she would presently do. She wouldn't be able to do it, even if she wanted to.

This where that final battle happened and he's looking at her like it's so important. It's not. She's over it.

When they were here before things looked very different. The hotel had been recently vacated and everything had been left exactly as it was. Some rooms had obviously been lived in. Some were perfectly clean and tidy. Now there are no actual rooms or furniture to speak of. Apart from these, the place is also lacking, to both meister's and weapon's relief, malicious Kishin wanna-be's drooling over their flesh and, more importantly, souls. Now there's only this one Soul here, looking at secretly bewildered Maka who's trying to stay true to her character.

"Hey." More of a sound check than an actual call. "Wanna go to the roof? It's the only part of this building I can feel at ease, I think," she concludes.

He shrugs and transforms, Maka hops on and he goes out the window, up and onto the narrow terrace among scattered bricks and roof tiles. You can only see it from above and it's as narrow and claustrophobic a space as it gets.

"You can't see stars tonight," he muses.

She nods and leans on a reclining surface that must have been straight at some point. It's high enough though, and it seems to be steady. She looks up and decides that every word that ever comes out of Soul's mouth is beyond doubt. She looks at him. He's making a point of pointing his nose upwards and sniffing the air.

"I've faced my fears. Now what?" she questions.

He lowers his head and opens his eyes as if annoyed by her interrupting his actions. She's looking at him with pure wonder, so he unwillingly softens up. He wants to stay angry longer damnit.

He's standing just a few feet away from her, yet he asks. "May I come over there?"

She's only slightly taken aback by his virtue. She nods and puts her cast behind her. It's only the second time she does so, but it has already become a silent ritual between them. It kind of makes her like the cast, just a tiny bit. She puts it behind her back to keep Soul from worrying about hurting her. He then knows it's the permission he needs to act however he pleases.

He's kind of shy and kind of guilty this time and his eyes are opened just a slit, as if he's blinded by the sun. It's almost six in the afternoon and there's no sun to blind him. The look he addresses to her is similar to the one he'd use on a stray cat. Don't run away kitty, I come in peace. I just want to pet you. She lets out a small laugh at the thought and he doesn't mind. She's allowed some forms of inexplicable behavior, a moment before she lets them both do whatever.

He pulls her gloves off, finger by finger. She's still giggling and shivering as he unfurls her scarf and bares her neck. When he places a slightly open mouth on the (only) part of her that's no longer covered by meddling cloth, the giggle diminishes to a strange continuation of shallow breathing. The shiver still remains and it accentuates when he inquires about the reason behind it, by whispering in her ear. He knows exactly why she's shivering and it's not from the cold. He can't stand being chivalrous for long. He'd rather be teasing and making her realize that he likes him enough to tremble at his touch like a well placed vibrato in some classical piano piece of the romantic era he would probably play by memory.

He knocks his forehead on her collarbone and she feels his coolness dissolve into a state of needy and horny. She pulls on his hair with her good hand and he raises his head to not really look at her. She smiles and nudges his nose with hers.

"Go," she simply says and he does. Kisses her again and they both take in each other's smell via breathing deeply and making fools of themselves. He cups her ears with his hands, not sure if he's doing it to make her feel loved, protect her ears from the cold or filter the sounds that reach them. Her tongue is warm and kind of shy. She's letting him take control for some reason he'd rather not look into right now. It takes lots of self discipline to convince himself not to bite her lip. His teeth weren't designed for kissing. Maka seems to have caught his thoughts and overlaps his tongue to make a point of actually pressing hers to pointy teeth.

"Hey, wh- be careful!" he says and she laughs it off. She's once again amazed by his saliva on her lips, because it feels foreign in a very familiar way. She loves it.

"Oh, come on, Soul," she answers.

He brings his knee up and pushes her legs apart. She gasps and jolts her head back and against the wall. She spits an "oww" under her breath. So many damn clothes.

She places a hand on his chest and zips down his leather jacket. He's wearing another jacket underneath. She zips down the second one too and she gloriously reveals a T-shirt. Slips her hand underneath it and traces fingers on his scars. She grimaces. He settles for shutting his mouth. The skin she's tracing is frigging sensitive. Her hands take a dive towards the floor (and his belt) and he discovers that his facial muscles are way more capable than he gave them credit for. He lowers his foot to the ground. He was never quite able to multitask.

He feels stupid. It's not the first time he's done this. There have been girls, goddamn it.

Maka slowly unbuckles his belt and soft fingertips graze on dangerous territories as she unbuttons and unzips his trousers as well. She's not looking but she feels his speeding heartbeat through her grip on hardened muscle. He has his eyes closed and he twitches every time she moves her hand. How ironic that she gets to do this with her left hand. What a disappointment it must be. She slowly pumps, careful not to grip too much. Soul's eyes open and he looks surprised that she's looking at him. He shuts them again and, with a low hiss, he puts his hand over hers and moves it faster. Oh.

She's so damn distracted. What is she thinking about that can take her mind off of_ this_? And how can her distraction make him distracted?

He shoves a hand between her legs more forcefully than he wanted to. Multitask. Ignore her white hands. Ignore her dexterity. Ignore the fact that her bare hands are going all over his erection. Ignore the fact that it's the actual first time she's worked him, in any way, bare-handed. He cuts her leggings into thigh-high socks. She slows down and looks at him, surprised. What? Think you can diminish this into meaningless horniness by keeping it one-sided, eh? He doesn't bother with her panties. He's seen them in the laundry basket a thousand times.

She misses a breath and buries her face in his hair, leaning forward. He slightly crouches to accommodate her. She squirms a bit in his arms. He pushes and rolls fingers on sensitive flesh and makes stuff hazy.

"Soul," she whispers in his ear. He won't shiver, no. "My l-legs," she pleads. She's kinda trembling and unsteady. "Could you...?"

He lifts her up and balances her against the wall. "Stop, stop," she says and he looks up, retracting a finger from a very interesting and wet hollow. She looks at him in the eyes and it's the actual first time they've looked at each other. He bumps her forehead with his and murmurs 'what' in a whiny voice.

She wraps her legs around him, balances herself by pushing the wall with her casted arm and uses the other one to look for a condom in Soul's back pockets. She finds one. It's not enough of an excuse to resort to her man-hating ways (daddy issues) and call him a jerk. He can just call him prepared. And be grateful for it. She holds it up in front of his eyes, trying not to look sheepish, and he doesn't try to not look dumbfounded.

"Here?" he asks. She nods. "Now?" he asks. She nods. He shrugs and grins. Maka says a 'let me' under her breath. She commands her hands to not be shaky or she'll cut them off. She commands herself to ignore the damned cast. And it's on.

He commands himself to stop incessantly marveling at the direction of things and try to hold her up steadily. She's trembling too much. And it's making him harder. And it's making him unable to concentrate and function.

She guides him inside her in small, hesitating motions. He pushes the last bit in. She grimaces.

"What?" he asks, alarmed. She shakes her head but her face is tense and her fingernails are digging into his jacket. "What? Does it hurt?" he asks again in a more demanding voice. She shakes her head again. She doesn't loosen her grip. "Why does it hurt?" Oh no no no no.

She apologetically shrugs. "Is it your first time?" he asks. She sighs and nods.

His look is blank. "But, you said-" he starts but she cuts him off by blocking his mouth with hers while mentally rolling her eyes at herself for the clichéd move. They'll talk about it later. She hugs him because she likes his smell and because she'd rather not face him. She's going to cry.

"Move," she whispers. And, unmistakeably, he obeys. How can he not? And it stings in a weird way and it feels so intimate and she feels like she's suffocating, but in a good way, because she knows that everything she ever felt can seep out of her and envelop them both. And it's scary because it's Soul and he's locked into her now somehow and she will never be able to let him go and she'll never tell him that she loves him because if she does, she'll melt into a mess of false maturity gained from not being serious _mature_ Maka anymore. And if she does, it'll be wasted now because the things they are feeling are certainly different. She's not even there. And she is. She wishes she could wrap her legs around him tighter. And it's all jumbled up empty words and endorphins and she'll change her mind in two seconds.

Soul doesn't really make any sounds, he just whispers in her ear about how he'd wish she'd take those damn gloves off more and that she'd let him undress her more and why, why, why is this her first time, didn't they agree to get that done with other people? And how come this is happening now and why are y-ugh.

She squeezes the walls of her insides in an instinctive attempt to shut him up. It's starting to feel way too good and his pace is starting to feel way too slow. She kisses him and he finally bites her bottom lip. And it's a personal triumph for both of them because Maka's lips are so soft and so moist and Soul's teeth are so pointy and this pain transforms to dreamy tingling so easily. It's more like a dream than reality.

He speeds up and she breathes out a 'good job' before latching onto him and starting to have difficulty taking actual breaths. Good thing she doesn't have to stand on her legs. Good thing her brain is shutting down. Good thing she's not thinking coherently anymore.

He can feel her unfurl like she does only when she's sleeping. She's tense and panting but silent and if they were resonating he knows that her mind would be empty of words. There would be colors or musical notes. Notes would be so much better and awesome cause he'd have planted them there. But thinking about it will make him finish faster and he's already amazed at how long it seems this has been happening.

Maka's moving herself and Soul lets out a shaky breath or two and everything gets faster and faster, then pauses, slower, one last push upwards and she can feel all his muscles tighten and his arms where he's holding her squeeze her and it's done. She feels numb and weightless and it's the start of everything because she _wants Soul_ so much more.

He lifts her up more and taking all her weight on him, turns around, leans against the wall and slides down to sit on the floor with Maka on his lap. And he looks at her and she feels loved. He grins a shit eating grin and he's the ruler of the world.

* * *

A/N: Hee, hope you liked it. Thanks for reading, and tell me what you think, if you want to and have the time to. :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hi hi, hope you're doing well! Also hope you'll like this!

* * *

It's the weekend so they have a legitimate excuse to laze around the house. Or Soul does, anyway. He doesn't have to go to school, or go on a mission, or cook, or go out. In all honestly, he doesn't really want to go out. He's content here, with all the chores in the house shared and over with, because they're not fighting any more, not at all. And it seems so long since they've just been calm. He can simply sit on the couch, listening to a newly made playlist and look at her while she's finally reading an actual novel, because now she can hold it up (and it's only partly due to Kim's magic) and she's content too. He can sit here and stare at her all day because his mind is completely silent except for the occasional pop-up of 'I did Maka', or 'Maka did me', or 'Maka was a back-stabbing lovely meister who didn't keep her promise of not losing her virginity to me'. It was a stupid agreement anyway. At least she didn't get mad he kept his promise.

So he's perfectly allowed to sit on the couch, with his feet on the table cause, well, his socks are clean, and cause Maka is peaceful. And he can watch her look up from her book and check that he's there and smile at him and blush and carry on with her reading and then look up again. It's an endless circle he's not getting tired of. He doesn't really feel the need to take the headphones off. There is nothing he would particularly want to hear. She won't really talk. She's kind of embarrassed in a cute hewantstoripherclothesoff way, but he's trying to be stoic about it. But, still, it feels nice like this. With the volume of his music not shooting for the skies for once and Maka just a step away. And Blair off somewhere. Blair not in the house, anyway.

He sees her mouth moving and he doesn't even sigh as he rests the headphones around his neck.

"What?" he asks.

"Banana flavored ice cream!" she says.

"What about it?"

"It must taste awful," she says and closes her book.

"What?" he deadpans.

"I mean," she looks to the ceiling, "why would they make banana flavored ice cream? It really smells bad. And who thought that bananas would be good to make ice cream from?"

There's pure wonder in her voice. "I think I've tried it," he says.

"Yeah? What does it taste like?" she asks as she's reaching for the top book shelf to put her book back.

"Shit," he answers and she settles herself beside him.

"Mmhm." She rests her head against the back of the couch and leaves her working hand on the cast. "Stein said I could take it off next Wednesday." She looks at him with the corner of her eye and then turns her head towards his. "He says I'll need rehabilitation."

"Mhm." He mimics her.

"We won't fight together for some time more."

He undoes both her pigtails simultaneously. He did them for her this morning.

"I like how you have to make your presence noted." He raises an eyebrow. "You have to do something. Undo my hair, unbutton a button on my shirt, or button it, undo my shoelaces..." She trails off.

"Yeah?"

"You've always done it. Ever since I can remember. You had to _change_ something. Even the littlest thing."

"Hmm," he hums and puts the headphones on her and it stops her from talking. The music that's playing is really suitable and he likes how her expression changes from relaxed to focused. She's always so determined to listen closely and _understand_. In the beginning he was worried. She would try to understand it, decode it, and it would lose its point. But then he started seeing a pair of small earphones left here and there in the house, found her dozing off with earphones on. Found her music player. It was filled with his music. Some other stuff too. But mostly him. And he knew and it made him so damn proud.

It's a minimalistic piano piece that always reminds him of fields of straw. It matches her. It's quiet and subtle and simple and addictive. She may not be simple. Addictive she is.

He doesn't really want to think about anything.

Her eyes close slowly and she's relaxed again, with her palm on his leg. Not suggestively. Just intimately.

He doesn't want to think, not really. But he should really try to decode her _again_. Figure out why she made them sleep with other people. And she didn't. But he did. And why wasn't she angry? And all those nights, worrying about where she is and whose jerk's house she's spending the night in. And worrying that she'd spend the day there too. And the next day. She always came home in the morning. Early in the morning. And she'd come in his room and open the windows. He was awake every time. She looked sluggish opening the windows, letting the cold winter air in to make him freeze in his morning sleep. And in the summer, it was worse. She'd close the windows and deprive his room of a much needed morning breeze. She was getting back at him. For what he really didn't care. It felt right. It felt like something she would do.

And when he got home late in the night she was usually awake. Openly awake, on the couch studying or watching crappy after-midnight gore films. She'd offer him cups of hot chocolate and midnight snacks. And in the summer it was usually plain water or lemonade. He never did dare spend the night away from home. It didn't feel right. He'd never been with the same girl twice. That fell to the betrayal department in his mind. He had a no-meisters policy. That would be betrayal too.

And then she started spending every night at home. And he stopped returning late. And she secretly frowned more, or smiled more. Her own rules tired her out more frequently than not.

But now all of that is over. And they can idle away their time sitting on the couch.

She can't hear him. He's telling her all that and more. She smells so good. And he's so glad she's letting them do this and letting him do this. And he's worried that he'll bite a piece of her off at some point. She can see him forming the words but she knows that she shouldn't take the headphones off. Sometimes you have to tell people things. But you don't want them to actually hear them.

* * *

Blair doesn't really _really _mind their sudden absence from the living room or the kitchen. They greet her whenever they see her and they're how they've always been. She's a part of the household. She can come and go as she pleases. She finds herself alone in the room lately though. Whenever she's home, they're hardly ever around and when they're in the house, they gravitate towards the privacy of their bedrooms. And they both go into the same bedroom.

She knows what this is but they are so secretive about it. Being behind closed doors and all, she'd be offended if she didn't know them this long. They are strangely quiet when she's home though. She's heard Maka or Soul or both laugh once or twice. But that's it.

She's kind of worried. They should be louder. Nyah. No. They should be louder, really.

* * *

Soul doesn't really know what Maka means when she says that she wants to keep the headphones on. What's the point? The idea has been stuck in her head ever since he made her wear them. And now she won't take them off when they're at home. And it's _his headphones_ and he should be angry and demanding, but she's being simply demanding and he just hands what she wants to her.

And now they're at the academy and she's still listening to his music from his headphones. It's a new obsession of sorts.

There hasn't been any particular continuation on her part. She's like she always is. She isn't more lusty or needy. She's just calmer and more snuggly. She likes to doze off near him a lot and spend the night in his room a lot. She won't really touch him. Sexually that is. And he kinda feels it doesn't come up in her thoughts that he would. She always looks as if she's not really there, like she's off somewhere else in her head, wearing a blue dress and chasing a tardy rabbit maybe. To be honest, he'd like to imagine the rabbit is his shadow in her fairy tale world. Rabbits are after all white with red eyes, aren't they? Well, hers surely is.

But she does look different. He doesn't know if it's because there's a vague promise of touching what he can see _and_ what he can't. The folds of the clothes become teasing.

And her voice. It sounds different. It sounds closer, somehow, and he noticed she uses his name more than usual. And when they're alone she puts a stress on the L in his name. Soul became Soulll. She's calling out to him, rather than saying his name. It pleasantly rolls off her tongue which he knows the feel of and it finally suits him. Even when she says it regularly, it's changed. She might just be mentioning his name in a conversation and it finally combines his name and who he is into the same word.

She absent-mindedly follows him into a long empty corridor after school hours. She has the headphones on and she's probably listening to the straw piece because he can almost see her hair transform into plant. He must have banged his head this morning. Yeah. He must have banged his head really hard. That one morning he first saw her.

He looks around and they're alone. Turns to face her and waves his hand to make her look at him. She smiles and tilts her head to the side. One pigtail covers one headphone. She's wearing a hoodie of his again, even though Stein took her cast off this morning. She's the only one who's been wearing it for the past month and more, yet she refuses to give it back, murmuring that it smells like him. How can it possibly smell like him? It adds to his already infinite coolness that she didn't run back to her own clothes.

He tugs her left hand under her too-long sleeve. He's weighing his options. What options?

He takes her by the waist and pulls her closer. She's letting him move her so easily again. He makes a turn while holding her in a stupid impulse to dance and they both grin. He leans forward and plants a kiss on her lips and, well, her teeth, because she was grinning. She lets out a soundless laugh and kisses him back and she's concentrating on him only. She raises her arms and rests both on his head after raising herself on tiptoe. She breaks the kiss to make appreciative sounds.

"Your hair is so soft," she says while nuzzling his nose. "And it's so good to touch it with both my hands." She's speaking the words a little too loudly. He puts his hand in her pocket (technically his pocket) and lowers the volume on her music player (again, technically his). "Sorry," she sheepishly says and holds his gaze even though their foreheads are touching.

"Hey, Maka," he calls softly. She retracts a palm from his head and finally takes the headphones off her ears. "Don't you, uh, want," he pauses and she is looking at him expectantly, "to do- I mean, don't you want me or anything?"

She blushes, of course, and pinches the skin on his neck. "W-what? Why are y-you asking-" She stutters and it's victory for Soul. But she realizes and mans up to speak in her clear, certain voice. "-me that?"

"You don't seem to do anything. You're always wearing unsexy clothes in the house," he says and smirks. She narrows her eyes. "Whenever you come to my room, you keep a distance and when you don't, you're asleep."

"I like to sleep with you."

"You should like _sleeping with me _too."

"I do."

"How do you know? We've only done that once. And first times usually kinda suck."

She rolls her eyes and kisses him again. She uses her tongue this time and keeps her eyes slightly open. He does too. It's weird. Her face flushes and she shuts them. He mutters her name into the kiss and she responds with a 'mm?'

"Do you, mmm, think Blair will be home tonight?" he mutters and Maka giggles at the vibration of his voice against her lips.

"It's Wednesday." She pulls away. "She won't."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! I really hope you liked it! Any reviews are greatly appreciated! :D


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello hello (Shinigami-sama), hope you're doing well! Enjoy~

* * *

She still doesn't hold on to him when they're on his bike. He partly thought she would. But it's natural that she wouldn't. She won't change and old habits die hard. She keeps her hands in front of her and between her legs, keeping her skirt down on the seat. She bumps onto him when they stop at a red light and he inevitably imagines soft bare breasts against his back. Winter is a hassle. She lingers a little but once they're on the move she's sitting up straight again.

"It looks like rain," she says in his ear. She has to lean forward to talk to him and he gets a whiff of her and her shampoo.

* * *

He parks the vehicle, takes the keys out and puts them in his pocket. She opens the little pocket in the front of her bag where she always keeps the house keys and holds them up for him to grab. He does and she straightens her clothes. Thunder claps and it starts raining. Maka rushes up the stairs to their apartment and pulls him with her. She has been saying she feels weightless and floating. He lifts her up the final step and places her on the doorstep. He doesn't get Maka-chopped.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Don't suddenly grab me and lift me like that."

"Why?"

She doesn't have an answer to that so she just pulls a strand of white hair. "Open the door," she says.

As always, he does as he's told.

"I want tea," she declares.

"Go take a shower and I'll make it for you." She looks up at him. She's sitting on the floor to take off her boots. She hugs his leg.

"You know, Soul," she begins, "I really love you a lot."

This. This is. Why now? He knows. He knows and how can he not jump her right here and now? If he does that though, she won't have a reason to love him anymore. He won't make her tea. Instead he'll do things that will make her thirsty. At least he'll warm her up, right? And, surely, she wants tea mostly because it'll warm her up. "I'll water the plant, too. Later," he says.

He pulls her up by her good arm and hugs her. She moves the closest to him she can and puts her arms around his neck. "I can take a shower later too," she says.

"Wanna get undressed anyway?" he asks.

"Wanna get undressed anyway, too?" she asks.

Little Maka used the word 'undress'. And she was referring to him getting undressed for her own amusement.

She pulls away and zips his winter jacket down while he unfurls her knit scarf from around her neck. These were both gifts they bought for each other last winter. They weren't for Christmas or birthdays. Maka thought his jackets weren't warm enough so she bought this for him and then he bought her the scarf because the situation gave him a valid reason to put something he chose on her. She bugged him so much about not dressing warm enough and now she's exposing him to the cold (indoors and with the heating on). In any case, that's so hot.

She's Maka so she leads them to the living room and leaves his jacket on a chair instead of passionately throwing it on the floor while she bites his lip and pants heavily. No. With her scarf and coat gone, stuff is easy, so they plop onto the couch (because it's common ground) and Soul is gloriously on top of Maka. She's kissing him clumsily and there are interventions of fumbling with clothes, but she's using small words here and there with a voice so quiet only he can hear her and even though they're alone he feels the rest of the room fading out and losing its reason for existing. Furniture and walls don't belong in his brain when her vocal chords vibrate for him to hear.

"Hey, wanna put on some music?" he asks.

"Why? Not really, wouldn't want you off me," she says and raises a brow that challenges his sanity as well as hers.

"I mean on my headphones," he whispers.

It suddenly seems such a good idea to him so the headphones go out of her bag, around her head and he presses play. She puts on the same piano piece on repeat and he raises the volume.

With her ears plugged he can think clearly. Zippers and buttons heed his commands faster and better and she relaxes and lets her legs part and make a place for him between them. Her bra is gray. He looks at her face and she's blushing. Murmurs she doesn't like her breasts and sorry that they're so small. He pointedly disagrees. "Can I take it off?" he mouths and she nods. She closes her eyes tightly as he put his arms around and under her to fumble with the clasps. It's unhooked and she makes a point of removing the bra herself. She cups her breasts with her palms as if checking their size. He takes hold of her wrists but doesn't pry her hands away. She opens green eyes and looks at him. Her lips part and she breathes out. She puts her hands on his face, partially blocking his view but then slides them down his neck. She's flushing and she's bare. He sits up to look at her from afar. And her skin is white and flawless and unmarked. She's a tough, seasoned scythe-master yet it looks like careless fingers would stain her, or even break her. It's absurd that he thought he knew what naked girls look and feel like. Even partly naked, she exceeds every expectation and fantasy. It's absurd that he's mentioned Maka's tiny tits aloud. It's absurd that she existed clothed in his mind all these years.

"Resonate with me," he mouths.

She takes hold of his hand, more out of habit than need and they're resonating. Soul's thoughts rush into Maka's and she gasps and blushes and shoots up to hug him. "Pervert," she says. How can you think like that, she's thinking, how can I not be glued to you when you let me hear this?

He can hear the music from her headphones in his head and he's sort of playing it in the Black Room. Or Oni is. Probably him. He cannot divide himself into two. Not now. Not with Maka beneath him.

His thoughts bounce back from her along with a mix of bashfulness, determination and anticipation. She lifts his shirt and makes it known that she needs him to stretch his arms upwards so that she can take his damn shirt off and even out this situation, somehow, please. He does and lowers himself to kiss her and finally touch soft, white, previously out-of-bounds skin. His hands touch breast and it's her cue to get goose bumps from head to toe and shiver. She inwardly grumbles that she wishes she'd be less obvious about how good it feels when he touches any part of her. Her song ends and starts again.

She slides a hand on his torn but healed skin and downwards to find his belt and once again unbuckle it and make _him_ shiver this time. She makes a "HA!" aloud. Victory cries and nothing has even happened yet. He partly stands up to take his trousers off with a lopsided and only slightly dumb grin on his face. His hands find the zipper of her skirt this time and it's instantly gone. He traces the outermost parts of her panties, but she's once again quicker. With his pants off, he's in his boxers and beneath them there isn't only his own parts, but also a meister's straying hand. Fingers brush the head of his erection and slide down its length with a certainty that worries him about Maka breaking or keeping promises. She squeezes him and he cusses. Okay, he won't doubt her. She broke her promise.

Pushes a hand inside her panties while Maka's thoughts center around the characteristics of his fingers and how there's no way she won't be obsessed with them from now on. She already was. Cause he works her like his instrument, he thinks. She thinks he should shut up. Said fingers find and focus on a certain part that makes her inarticulate. Another set of fingers circles around her entrance and he's letting her know that he's so cool. He can do _this _to her, she gasps, all while she's trying to get him to feel it too. Mmmm. Maka fumes and pushes him back, up and down again. She's on top. You're still cool under me, she says to him in a voice in his head. You're so cool under me.

The piece she's listening to shouldn't be associated with sex. She takes off the headphones and Soul takes over the music that circulates between them. It's bits and pieces from songs he remembers mixed in an ascending melody that's more suited for the situation. Her tongue meets his skin. She's always drawn to his scars. It makes him stupidly glad that he has two. She hits his arm with subliminal strength to express her fake rage. Slides his boxers down and stares at what was covered by them. He wants to complain about her staring and tell her off or tease her but his curiosity as to her movements leaves him silent, even in his mind. She feels him straining and she looks up. His face is red and his mouth is tightly shut.

"Soul! Breathe!" She says it out loud and he lets out air he hadn't realized he was holding in. He frowns and she laughs. Stupid Soul. Stupid Maka! The resonance breaks. Well, she breaks it. She kisses the side of his mouth momentarily to reassure him that it's fine. They can still do this without resonating. Resonating during this is too much and she can't take it now. She wants to have her possessive and random thoughts to herself. She's still taking all this in. Soul doesn't need her racing stupid thoughts in his head.

She positions herself on top of him. He's naked but she's still wearing her bottom underwear. He notices her realization and nods. She should take them off. She should take them off herself. She has two working arms now, she can undress herself. And if Soul wants to do it himself he can't. Not now. She'll die of embarrassment. She keeps his hands in place and sits up. Awkwardly lowers pale green panties while thanking her blood for rushing to her face in such speed and quantity that it's giving her a headache. Lifts a leg and then another and flings them off. She'll pick them up later. Or maybe he will and wear them on his head as a trophy.

He's stunned and he struggles underneath her. He's afraid he'll pop a scythe from somewhere just because he's already popped a boner and Maka is on him and she's naked and he doesn't feel very human or in control of his body. She seems much more level headed about this. She's blushing and averting her eyes sometimes but she's on top of this. Both literally and figuratively. He has to snap out of his haze and focus on the actual events in accordance to which she's grinding against him, half-lidded and pristine.

The friction feels so good and he sounds so good. She doesn't want to stop and she knows that if she does they will have to stand up and _think _and find a condom and Soul will be out of hand's reach for a moment and she's a five-year-old (grinding against an erect dick) who pouts at the thought of her formerly platonic partner taking two steps away from her.

"C-condom?" she asks, surprised at her ability to speak.

He grabs her by the waist and swaps their places again. Kisses her while groaning and pressing a hand between her legs to stupidly make up for the loss of contact. They're in his room, damnit. He licks her neck and stands up. Maka squeaks and he lowers himself to kiss her again. Her tongue feels too hot and his does too and maybe their teeth will melt and they'll die from swallowing too much enamel or dentine or _something_. Or maybe that can't and won't happen, but now is not the time to call upon Maka's nerd skills. She bites his lip in an act of companionship. She likes to bite him also, she mutters into the kiss.

He stands up to coolly walk to his room with an erection and Maka stands up too. Naked Maka standing up is new. Her tits cast little shadows and it's making him glad to be wielded by a meister whose under-breast-shadows make him feel glad she's his meister. He loves it and he likes _her _quite a bit. Heh.

They're both headed for his room, occasionally stopping against nearby walls and tables to rest from the long walk and bite a nipple or two. The 'common-ground' plan seems to have failed as he gloriously finds a pack of rubbers on his bottom drawer (under a bunch of notebooks dating from long ago to a month ago) and, to her amazement and gratitude for existing, rips it open using shark-teeth. He puts it on himself not wasting any time with Maka shyly and watchfully pushing it down his length and he feels kinda stupid that he does. He still does though, because she's sitting on his bed and her nakedness is touching his sheets and he needs to have a condom on _real quick. _He nearly jumps on her because she's extending her arms towards him and she's so inviting.

Maka squints to see what he looks like. There's some light coming in from the window. It's some streetlight from across the street. It's dark in the house so the little light it's sending in is welcome. Soul's elbow flicked the switch for the living room ceiling lights when she pushed him. He said he wanted to feel her chest against his and she had to indulge him.

The light on the side of his face is making him look paler in the dark and is creating strange shadows that remind her of insanity. He's certainly sane, however, since he's pushing into her slowly and cautiously. His brows are furrowed and he's restraining his urge to envelop at least one part of him with her as fast as possible. She makes a promise to herself. Everything takes practice. She's going to practice a lot and make sure that she can fully take him in, all in one go. And she's keeping this one.

They're so damn eager to get to where their basic instinct is leading them that he hasn't had the chance to make her feel as good as she has. He wants Maka to scream and breathe out his name and feel her body charge up with pleasure, to satisfy his egoistical and stud needs.

"You're in," she says in a half-voice. She'll be the death of him. And his coolness.

He keeps still but this time it's her that starts moving. Pulling away and pushing closer, rolling her hips and making her bottom lip white from the force of her teeth sunk in it.

"Hurts?" he asks.

"No," she says so he risks a rhythm. "It feels, ah, good," she whispers.

She wants to say harder, faster but it reminds her too much of a forgotten song and she hasn't unlocked the courage level needed to utter that out loud yet. She loves the part where they push toward each other. Their bodies clash together and she feels complete. She's sweating a bit but she blames it on the pouring rain outside.

He sneaks his hand between them and pushes against her clit. Girls are made so cleverly. He loves that thing. So easily accessible, so effective. She throws her head back and he's left with her chin millimeters away from his mouth, so he bites that and she lets out a shaky breath mixed with a, was that a moan? and a continuation of letters whose combination may or may not form words in an unknown to them both language.

She looks into his eyes and there's a glint of something that wasn't there before. She likes it. She'll leave that for later though. What she likes more is what his fingers are doing. What his _other part_ is doing. Prude. Prude Maka. Soul is right.

They can hear the rumbling of thunder from outside and they're both glad there's no music to overshadow it. It makes Soul feel powerful and concentrated. She feels so good and soft and tight. He'd cry but there's too much water falling from the skies anyway.

She feels electricity running from the center of her and towards her legs and arms and head and Soul is putting all of his weight on her. There's tingling everywhere and she feels them a second away from resonating. Soul blocks it but she can't appreciate it because she's going numb and the only connection to the real world is his name. So she says that (whimpers that, screams that, who knows) and she's crashing and a moment later, she's floating. She's floating and Soul is saying 'fffffuck' and shuddering.

He relaxes after a few seconds. His chest is heaving and hers is too. He's spread on top of her so she matches her breathing to the opposite of his. He breathes in when she breathes out and creates a hollow for his filled lungs. She tells him to stay like this and he tells her he's going to have to start keeping condoms everywhere in the house. She nods in agreement.

* * *

They are both out of their (separate, boo) showers and the plan was to watch a movie and eat leftover dinner from yesterday, but Maka insisted that Soul go have a shower before her because she wanted to lay on the couch naked until she was too cold. He asked her why but she just shrugged. She kissed him goodbye and he set off for the far away land of the bathroom. When he came back, she was still naked, holding her knees to her chest. He asked her whether she was cold. She shook her head. Told her she looked small the way she was sitting. She tilted her head and rested it on a knee. He told her to go in the shower and she stood up telling him to wait for her.

When she was done, she got dressed and went into the living room to find Soul like she had been before. She sat next to him and now they're both a mess of legs and arms and no one knows who is who and whose arm or leg is which and it feels warm. She never thought she'd be able to sleep in such a strange position. But she did. And she doesn't have any dreams because she wakes up a lot to feel him there. He wakes up a lot too and they somehow end up sleeping on her bed. He sort of woke her up and they went there and then she pulled him next to her as he was leaving for his room. So he stayed.

Too bad about the movie. Maka always secretly likes zombie apocalypse films.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading, as always, any reviews are greatly appreciated, as always. Hope you liked it!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Here, hope you like it! :)

* * *

They both get more than their fair share of hell every other weekday. Stein has been officially assigned to oversee and coordinate Maka's rehabilitation sessions. They're lucky when he's bored and just watches, sits in his office chair and rolls to the window every six seconds for a smoke. It's the days when he cares about his day job when they'd prefer to be off somewhere else slicing kishin into two and risking completely losing an arm.

He got the "whiff of sex coming off of them" and he decided to use that as a method of making every move and resonance hard by unabashedly joining in momentarily and dipping his fingers into the pool of information about how Soul sounds when he's close to coming and about how Maka mostly trembles than talks and about how they always use up packs of condoms faster than they anticipated and have to hide boners and flushed faces to go buy new ones. Likes to talk about his own experiences in high school. His fake experiences. He likes to remind them that one of them may die and that if one of them decides they want to fuck someone else, their partnership will be crushed to smithereens.

He's been surprisingly decent about keeping his mouth shut when Spirit pops in for the not-so-casual-visit to the empty indoor gym where they try to make things that used to be second nature work. Whenever he sees a flash of red hair, his mouth is sewn shut. Figuratively. Spirit himself is dense as hell and he only has eyes for Maka's skills, or lack thereof, after the bone in her arm was smashed and put back into place via cast.

Maka likes to alienate herself from Soul after some sessions. She likes to brood and get angry at her body for not having bones made of steel and/ or the ability to instantly get into perfect shape after more or less two months of no exercising. She likes to hurry home with the others or whoever was staying late in the school on that day, but still lag behind a bit and single herself out of the crowd.

Soul likes to tail Maka from a few feet back and make his move when she's started giving up on a ride home nonetheless, but they're still close to where his bike is parked. It's easy because she's conveniently in the back of the group and he can pull her away in a second without anyone but Black Star maybe noticing. He likes to transform his arm into an appropriately dull blade, perfect for hooking meisters' waists for effect and pulling them close to their weapons. She's been very convenient in her positions lately. Or maybe it's that he thinks that however and wherever she is, he can go and grab her and talk to her.

He likes to pull her on the side of wherever they are and kiss her or whisper in or bite her ear. He likes to do anything he has liberty to do. He's still amazed by the liberty he's been granted. He's being granted more day after day. He likes to stare at his ceiling and address it with a smile instead of a frown, even when Maka is not sleeping next to him or cuddling him. Even when he's alone in his room and everything is seemingly the same as before Maka's bones were dislocated.

* * *

She wakes up in an empty house after a long time of not even waking up in an empty room. She didn't think it would be so easy to get used to the feeling of such an intimate companionship. These past few weeks have seemingly changed her principles and her view towards surviving in this world. She doesn't care though. She'll get over it. The first few days (or weeks, or months even) of a romantic relationship are _supposed_ to make you feel like you and Soul, er, you and the other person are two indistinguishable parts of a closely knit and entangled whole. You're supposed to forget how it felt to be one single person. For a while, at least. This is a common point, clearly mentioned or heavily implied, in every cheap or classic novel she's read. It's a cliché and she will allow it just this once because it feels too damn good and she won't even mentally comment on how she cusses like Soul.

She gets out of bed and puts foot in front of foot carefully to reach the bathroom because it's too early on this Saturday morning, even for diligent, behaved Maka. Especially after yesterday's serving of a very eager and professional Stein. She tries to refrain from absent-mindedly giving the shower curtain the death glare intended for creepy seniors who stand too close to her on the bus, just because it sticks to her back occasionally if she moves around too much. She tries to be quiet for once, to make up for all the noises that have been emitting from her in this particular room this week. It's her partner's fault, but. He's away on mission. All she can do is suck up to the rooms in the house for forsaking their entities for just one boy. Well. Just one boy. These three words could choke her. Few combinations of words contain more lie than these three when referring to dear Soul.

Washing her hair seems kind of boring. Everything she does in this empty house seems kind of boring. It'd be good if Blair popped in for a while, just to keep her occupied. To make her angry even. Come into the house and showcase skimpy underwear and tease her about closed doors and absences. Make her forget about the emptiness of the house and the annoying fact that it bothers her.

He texted her an hour ago or so, asking how she was and whining about the people he was teamed up with. She responded accordingly, saying she was fine and that he should focus on the mission rather than point out the obligatory flaws of people that weren't what he was used to. He said 'I gave up morning coffee for this, you'd better be more loving', and it dawned on her that he really was in other continent and that she really was taken aback by how much the distance bothered her.

She'll call Tsubaki up. Maybe they'll go out for a coffee or whatever people her age casually do.

* * *

"Hurry up! It's cold!"

"Mmm."

"Don't just make a noise, move faster!"

"Mmm."

Her shoulders are all scrunched up, at least that's what it looks like with all the clothes she's wearing. When they first got out of the airplane she gasped and exclaimed at the whiteness of her exhale, the first time in this winter. Then she proceeded to explain the physics behind it to him. She'd already told him last year.

He's wearing a layer less than her but his blood is still warm and fast in his veins. She says hers must have solidified and stopped. He can deal with the cold better than her. Maka says it's because of his white hair. Only true northerners have such colour of hair. He laughs and says that blond hair is supposed to be linked to Vikings, who are also sturdy against the cold, but she renders his arguments invalid without words. She's very convincing as she looks up at him from only an inch or two below his eye level and her eyes lock fast into his like a missile locked onto the target. She slides a bare hand into his pocket and entangles her fingers with his gloved ones.

But the tips of her hair are frozen, because their foe nearly dropped her into the river head first. She dodged it. Of course she did. He has no reason to worry. He didn't have to worry about anything, all the way from the beginning. And the tips of her hair are frozen and it's not really proof that the monster had power over her for a second or two. It makes her cooler and it makes them white, which makes Soul smile a crooked smile he wouldn't allow himself were she looking at him.

The snow is halfway to his knees and he can see why she's whining about having to chase one sickly kishin egg so far away from the road where it has been pushed to the sides.

"I just want to teleport myself into a tub full of hot water and soap," she says, chewing on her words, maybe for warmth.

"The bike's just a three minute walk," he grumbles. Hey, man, she's cold. Show some tenderness for beloved meister Maka."Just a little longer and we'll do our best to get you to the hotel faster than teleportation."

She turns around and stops walking till he's next to her. "Hug me?" she asks.

He obliges and also takes off the bands holding her hair into two slightly irregular pigtails. They do the three minute walk with his arm draping her shoulder as her fingers are tapping on his to the rhythm of their footsteps. He gives her the mittens he secretly bought her. She lets her bangs cover her eyes, thanks him and puts them on. She holds onto him while he's driving.

She's content, he can tell. This was the first assignment for them both in a long time. Maka joked about it being so far up north. She said it must be because the cold will numb them both so that they won't feel new and old scarred skin and bone on her part hurt. He shut her up the good way. She wouldn't dare complain.

They breezed through it. It was a mob of sorts, made up by soul-devouring outlaws. She talked to him about the air and the sounds his blade made as he sliced through the cold. Smiling like an idiot, spinning him around like pedalling downhill after not having been home for ages. She danced around for a while, mostly on the defensive, savouring his weight and the feel of steel in her palms. She'd taken her gloves off and left them at the hotel. Said she didn't mind the cold. A death scythe she's doing shouldn't be wielded by clothed fingers as opposed to bare hands. When she starts slicing flesh though, the smile appropriately leaves her features. Focus comes in its stead.

* * *

In the elevator going up she starts unbuttoning coat and jackets. Passing by the floor before their own her scarf has been loosened around her shoulders and she's bended down on one knee, unlacing her boots. Soul has zipped his jacket down and taken off his muffler since the first two floors. He spends the rest of the time watching her undress. Not for him, but for the tub. He unintentionally mirrors her move of undoing shoelaces. She fumbles around in discarded clothing she's given him to hold for the key card. She finds it and nods thankyou to him. He'd point out the needlessness in her polite gestures and typicalities, but he knows that even if he does, she'll still feel the need to be instinctively polite, unrelated to his being all over her and actually inside of her a few hours or a day ago.

He loves that unwritten-law-abiding part of her. He knows that it's not something her parents taught her, but something that she taught herself because she decided she wanted to. He blames it on the books she's read.

She knows she's been given the privilege of going in the bath first. She knows by the way he sat on the foot of the bed submissively, letting her go about the room and arrange things as she thought they should be. She wants to sit right on his lap, but she's so damn cold she can feel her teeth starting to rattle any second now. He is warmer than anything but she needs to surround herself completely in water and rinse off the stink of battle before she touches him.

She still (stubbornly) refrains from undressing completely in front of him when the situation doesn't call for it, so she keeps her underwear on before she disappears into the already steamy bathroom. She leaves the door open and it is, again, more an intimacy than a suggestion. She wishes she was more suggestive. She just can't be. When and if she wants something, she'll tell him because she loves talking to him and she loves that his attention is all focused on her when she does.

She steps in the bath and leaves a sigh that mingles perfectly with the humid air of the room. She can hear Soul humming lowly in the other room and relishes the quiet of the hotel. It's after midnight and her soul perception only picks up scattered pieces of calm here and there. Nothing loud, nothing urgent. Just Maka in this tub of warmth and pleasant smells and Soul just outside, where she can shout out to him, walking around and making the air vibrate with sound waves he's emitting. She smiles underwater and remembers a long lost memory of a dream where kid Maka would bubble out the oxygen contained in her lungs and breathe it in again. A revolutionary breakthrough. Maka can breathe underwater.

Mmmm. Warm.

* * *

With Soul out of the bath after what seemed to be an eternity of waiting without a book to read (it only took him twenty minutes to shower), he comes back to where she likes him (in hand's reach). She tells him that and he, oddly already dressed, grabs her from behind and presses his chest against her back. She stays still and maybe holds her breath as he puts cold hands underneath her top and pulls them out from her collar again.

"No bra?" he asks.

"Decided to be prepared for action," she replies.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Action not including Spartoi uniforms?"

"Mostly including the very lack of any clothing," she offers, feeling her head ready to burst.

"And what kind of action might that be?" he asks, all wonder and no mischief at all.

Yer mind is so predictable. SoulSoulSoul. Shut up with your smug remarks, you're making me forget reality.

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it... Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hope you like it and I hope you're doing good~!

* * *

The bass in the tremendously and overpoweringly loud music is making Soul's lungs feel like they contract and expand even when he's not using them. This is an instant trigger for a strange forgotten feeling of home and unhealthy but satisfying familiarity, but Maka is squinting from all the smoke in the room and maybe from the loudness of everything here, in an illogical, subconscious attempt to shut it out. She sticks out like a sore thumb and he finds he likes that, because, for the first time, he can rationally account for his ability to single her out in a dimly lit room full of people. The fact that a search for her in a stadium filled with ash blond, pigtailed, green-eyed, stick figure-y schoolgirls in Shibusen uniforms would also come up with valid results in a matter of pico-seconds is a whole different story.

There's a vague promise from the long-and-blond-haired barman concerning specially made party shots, 'guaranteed to make this more interesting'. Pft, yeah. The promise is made to a group of obsessing girls in skirts a touch or a zillion too tight. Was that Maka's voice in his head?

He takes an ice-cube in his mouth and her hand in his and leads the way to a more secluded part of the bar, near the exit and semi-adequately away from the nearest speaker. Soul can't help but hum or even sing (!) along to the song playing, probably partly due to the fact that he's facing away from Maka and she wouldn't be able to hear him over the general noise even if she was trying to.

Is humming along cool? He hasn't decided yet. What he has decided is that dragging Maka by the hand to anywhere is the new epitome of coolness.

It's surprisingly satisfying to see her in an unfamiliar to her environment, especially since it's familiar to him. There's a hazy I-invited-Maka-over-to-my-house thing going on inside his head and it keeps him very amused. She looks up at him and gratefully sighs as she leans against a stone wall devoid of wiring for speakers. She doesn't look too amused, but at least she doesn't look like she'd rather not be here.

He goes to get himself another drink and inflates her gratitude when he comes back with two barstools for them to sit on. Her feet hang off hers and she swings them back and forth absent-mindedly, not in accordance with the rhythm of the music. Maaaka.

He turns to her and sees her lips move to form words he needs to bring his ear close to her mouth to hear. He takes a moment to watch them part and come back pressed together. The alcohol is making him sluggish and he'd rather not move. Maka shakes her head in exasperation and pointedly motions him to get closer already.

"Isn't this your third glass?" she demands.

He nods and raises a brow. She's still mulling over finishing her first glass of lemonade. Oh, lemonade mixed with vodka. Yeah. One part vodka, a trillion lemonade.

"Why don't you...?"

She looks at her glass then at him. "I am!" She takes a sip to prove her point. He leans back on the wall and occupies his time with looking at her. She notices and bats eyelashes at him mock-seductively. Unexpectedly drinks the rest of her alcoholic lemonade in one go and leaves the empty glass on a table nearby. All the ice had melted. Takes his hand and starts playing with his fingers. An act of intimacy on her part, surprisingly in public. Away from investigating eyes and in a darker corner, but, still, in public.

She suddenly stops and leans halfway over to talk to him. Again, he stays put, so she yanks him to her by the collar of his jacket. This girl will always prefer the violent alternative to any action.

"Where's Tsubaki-chan and Black Star?"

"How should aahI know?"

"Good thing about this music is you can't hear Black Star," she laughs.

"But the great Black Star can hear you!" says a voice, the decibels of which prove Maka wrong.

"There you are!" Maka exclaims at Tsubaki, obviously unfazed by the great Black Star's entrance to the scene. Black Star grabs two stools more in an outbreak of valour and Tsubaki settles in hers, evidently not surprised by her meister's gentlemanliness. Still, he doesn't fail to point it out to her, in a humble for him tone. She offers him a smile and a 'thank you'. In order to balance out the scale of 'god' and 'human', he puts his hands on his hips and throws his head back, laughing.

"That's how it's done, boy," he tells Soul, who scoffs and shoots a glance at Maka which, in a more realistic world than the actual real one, would have turned into a laser beam halfway to her own eye, permanently burning a red spot right in the centre of her pupil. It would remain there always and she'd be able to tell next generations about how, when she was young, there had been a 'boy' who looked at her in a way that marked her actual eyeball forever.

Had been? Past perfect is depressing.

In a moment though, Black Star claims his friend's attention back. When he finishes narrating the epic tale of his and Tsubaki's trip from their house to the bar (a fifteen minute walk), they both stand up abruptly and murmur their temporary goodbyes and will-be-backs to their partners.

Maka follows Soul's trail about the bar scattily until a group of classmates block her view. She turns to Tsubaki, hopeful that she hasn't noticed anything 'weird going on between Soul and Maka' and searches for something to comment on. Ah, unknown piece of purple fabric clinging onto Japanese skin. "New dress?" she asks, in an attempt to communicate with a fellow human being who doesn't possess pointy teeth that like to make temporary marking hollows in her skin.

Tsubaki shakes her head. "It's Blair-san's," she says. "She lent it to me for the party."

"Oh." How come she hasn't seen it before? "It looks good!"

Tsubaki bows her head slightly in thanks. She leans in and Maka does too. "She needed to adjust the chest area," she says. Maka can tell she's blushing from the way the weapon is looking at her with upturned eyes because her head is tilted downwards to get gravity to work for her, creating a subtle but effective cover for her flushing cheeks.

Maka nods in understanding, but not without a pang in her own chest.

Well, at least now there's no one she knows who might have bigger boobs than Blair. And those were the reason Soul used to look so pale all the time at home when the cat-witch first moved in. She used to get angry at him and Makachop him. Self-mutilatingly made him orange juice right after to compensate for the lost blood.

She once shoved a book into his face because raising her arm in the air for momentum and bringing it back down again would take too long. She still regrets it. His aged brown blood still stains a few pages of the hardback.

Maybe Patti's more... gifted? No. No, right? For all the good it does her, she can go and look later. It's Patti's party and she's wearing a really, really special one-piece that flaunts alllll kinds of curves.

"No," Tsubaki urgently says, shaking her head. "She had to _stretch it_!"

"WHAT?" Maka's voice gets a little too loud for comfort and it's right the moment Soul and Black Star decide to reappear. Soul turns her way, alarmed look on his face. Wait. No. That's not alarm, that's-

"Who had to stretch what?"

Maka is starting to believe Black Star can shoot his wavelength out with his voice too.

"Didn't you hear?" Maka says, luring him into a defence of his excellence. "I'm surprised your ninja skills didn't make that question unnecessary."

While Black Star is busy waving his arms about and spluttering his usual speech along with droplets of beer, Maka focuses her attentions on strangely silent and ever so slouching Soul. She hops down her barstool, mentally patting herself on the back for not being at all inebriated, and approaches his chair. She bends her head under his but gets no movement in response.

"Soul?" No, nothing. Maybe louder and closer? "Soul?" she tries again. He tilts his head to the left in a silent, disgruntled 'what'.

She puts a palm under his chin, leaving the analysis on the connotation of the gesture for later, and lifts his head to face her.

The white parts of his eyes are red too, now. She swears that if this is clichéd alcohol-induced bloodshot eyes, she'll never ever be violent again. With his eye colour being red, a percentage of his blood being black and his tendency to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, her brain conjures up a list of possible fatal misgivings relating to bar hopping witches, newly formed Kishin Shibusen is unaware of and heavy drugs.

"Did you do more shots?" she asks Black Star in straining monotone.

"Yeah, don't g..."

He continues with his explanation but Maka is preoccupied with blissfully mourning the violent part of her personality.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Have a good day/ night!


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Last chapter! Thanks for making it all the way to here, hope you like this last bit!

* * *

"Do you want to head home?" Maka asks Soul in the sweetest voice she can pull off. He dazedly looks at her, smiles after seeing her welcomingly arranged expression and nods. She is torn between cradling his white furred head in her arms with intentions of babying him excessively and kicking him in the shin for being such a brat and downing one mystery shot after the other. No. She's a newborn angel of goodness and she won't use anything in her to harm without reason.

She shouldn't have sworn off her violence. What if he wasn't alright after all? She'd unmistakeably have to use force then, without being able to wield him so that he'd do it for her.

She tells Tsubaki to keep an eye on him, because she's worried he might fall off his chair and smash his face while Black Star points at him and laughs hysterically without it ever occurring to him that he might want to help his friend up and off the cold, unrelenting floor.

She walks a circular route to where she can see Kid, Liz and Patti. She announces that she and Soul are taking their leave to anyone who asks, gives a few goodbye hugs to members of Spartoi and finally takes the final step towards the trio she came to find.

"This was great, thank you all for inviting us," she addresses herself to Liz and Patti mostly and then turns to their meister. "Kid-kun, good job finding a symmetrical bar! Circular buildings are rare to come by in Death City," she offers with a sideways half-grin, half-smile. If she had a mirror in front of her, she suspects it would jumpstart a split-personality identity crisis where she finally realises Soul is actually her alter-ego.

"I had to intervene to its design slightly-" Kid starts but is cut off by synchronised Thomson voices.

"Why are ya leaving?"

"Stupid Soul is drunk." She pauses and rephrases upon registering the unsatisfied expressions before her. "Stupid Soul is _very_ drunk." She fights off the urge to add a question mark to that. Verbal abuse is fine, right? In any case, she has to stay within character guidelines. Serious Maka can't baby Stupid Soul, not even indirectly, without being suspected of severe concussion and/or unaccounted for gaps in her judgement that might just have been caused by her being utterly and irrevocably in love with Stupid Scytheboy.

As much as she will deny it, Soul is pretty much fine, but she was searching for a reason to hole up at home with him tonight, anyway.

"Is that guy mixing pure spirits again!?" Liz explodes. Maka nods and she storms off, leaving her sister guffawing while holding her stomach. Yep. Blair's boobs are bigger, no doubt.

Maka says she'll see them in class and politely steps back while facing them, before turning her back to contemplating Kid and ecstatic Patti and heading for her things and the fully grown minus maybe three months human male she has to carry home.

She finds them in high spirits, laughing while Black Star pats Tsubaki's back in congratulations for something she'd said.

"Maakaa," Soul excitedly calls.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Mm."

"Got all your things?" She looks around him for discarded keys and cell phones.

"Mm."

His 'mm's remind her of sounds he unconsciously makes when woken up in too-early mornings.

They both say goodbye to Tsubaki and her meister, who she considers to be a god as much as he does, make promises to meet at the academy and take their leave. Maka is the one to guide Soul out the building now. She refrains from taking his hand in fear that the touch might trifle with his own efforts to keep himself steady and fast on his feet.

"Soul-kun?"

Maka is swifter to turn with the intention of answering to his name. She is faced with a girl shorter than her (slightly, but yessss), most possibly younger than her, and, continuing the morbid direction of this particular night, more blessed by nature than her. Soul circles around his meister and behind her to rest his chin on her shoulder.

"What?" he asks, clearly annoyed that someone is engaging in actions that put him in a position where he has to appear more sober, more aware and more communicative than he is now.

"Are you leaving? I thought y- before at the bar, your friend said you'd stay," she expectantly demands more than says and looks straight into his eyes. The forward stare directed to Soul invades Maka's personal space.

"Hah?" His head drops. Maka is left frozen, feeling she's watching this from afar, albeit her short distance from the girl. "Go away, I'm hers," he mutters slowly and matter-of-factly.

Let her just mirror him once more and say: "Hah?"

He looks at Maka and rephrases. "_'m 'er weapon_."

The girl turns her ear to him and inches closer. "What did you say, Soul-kun? Her weapon?"

"I'm her weapon!" He looks into Maka's eyes, searching for the words that escape him and his poisoned in more than one way blood. "I mean, I'm her toy. No. Wait, what?" Shakes his head. "Ah, fuck off, I mean, I'm her _boy_-" He pauses and looks at aforementioned _her_, because he might just have said something she didn't agree to. The girl eagerly puts a hand on a hip tilted upwards in a definitely calculated angle and purses her lips.

"Uh-" Maka starts, in order to make her presence noted and maybe emit such amounts of possessiveness that this, ahem, female will back off and die, please. "Sorry, _he's busy_," she shoots and grabs him by his strangely soft jacket.

Drags him out of the bar and the cold hits her face as if the exact amount of violence she forsook came back in a gush of chilled wind. She takes a deep breath and Soul-in-just-a-T-shirt comes into view.

"Wha- where's your jacket?" she asks him and simultaneously realises that she's in only a shirt too. But he has a bundle of clothes in his hands.

"Here," he says and hands her her long black coat and her scarf. And now he's holding nothing.

She might just tear up at his remembering to grab her coat being this drunk and obviously having forgotten his own.

"Where's yours?" she asks and he momentarily eyes the sky before answering.

"I-uh, what? Oh. Left it for Tsubaki 'cause she said she'd been cold walkin' 'ere and," he rubs his palms together, "Black Star was only wearing a T-shirt." He shrugs and sneezes. He apologetically smiles stupidly at her and hunches to get his shoulders closer to his bare neck. She sighs, freezes externally, fumes internally.

Even if she tells him to go back and get it, or goes back to get it herself, he'll whine and complain about it because his secret attentiveness to the sensitivities of others might be noted, and what shall they both do then? Maybe not have to walk in the cold while he sneezes every four seconds.

"You, you-" What? What? "KITCHEN KNIFE! You'll catch a cold _again _and you'll hate yourself for it _again_!"

He keeps blankly looking at her, not paying attention to the Maka that's degrading his Death Scythe status (and her own achievement) and trading reality for something more pleasant, as it seem from the corners of his mouth. She allows herself a few harmless swearwords muttered mostly inside her mouth as she wraps him up in her scarf as shieldingly as she can.

At least Papa made himself useful for once, buying her this huge black scarf 'for the cold winter days' which are admittedly few but freezing in Death City. She's internally elated that the usefulness of his gift would anger him to the point where he'd pop scythes out his back. But wait, does she need to look into this more? Why are people always giving her knit garments for gifts? Could she be a useless girly girl who never misses a chance to state her sensitivity to the cold? As she ties loose ends around Soul's shoulders, she furiously searches for signs of whining about the cold from her part, but her loyal kitchen knife rescues her from her accelerating train of thought by bumping into her and wrapping his bare arms around her.

"Sorry 'bout that girl," he murmurs, stressing his words unfamiliarly. "She was only- 'cause you'd said, and there's nuthin'-" His weight rests on her now and her reason for existing shifts to not wavering under it. "Y' know there's nuthin' more important-"

He can't seem to finish a sentence so she puts a finger on his lips shushing him and kisses him. "I know." She straightens him and brushes back hair stuck to his face due to static electricity resulting from his rubbing against her coat. "Let's go home?"

"What about the bike?"

She looks back over her shoulder to said bike parked under a weak streetlight. "We'll come back for it, first thing in the morning, ok?"

"Can't just leave it here," he complains.

"Who's going to drive?" she points out and takes his arm to drape over her shoulders. "It's only a twenty minute walk or so, we'll be home before you know it."

He succumbs to her point easily and she's surprised he's so much less argumentative than she expected him to be.

They start their slow way home, stopping occasionally when he declares to be absolutely certain that there's someone or something following them and goes to check in dark corners, or when he stumbles on purpose to make her catch him and laughs afterwards. Whispers words of love in her ear and how he'd rather they take no shortcuts because this is so fun. His arm expertly bends and twists to find its way inside her shirt. She sighs and blames the hot air from her lungs for her suddenly heated face but realises she misunderstood his intentions when he innocently rests his palm on skin kept warm by clothes.

"For warmth," he quietly offers. She takes his other hand in hers that isn't holding him by the waist. With an elusive nearly non-invitation from her, his fingers intertwine with hers, locking them together in a way that's second nature to them both. They glance sideways at each other and share bashful smugness at their sync and this weird, uncomfortable and, at last, warm position.

* * *

Soul is grumbling about how he 'has to go take a piss, right the fuck now' and she's unproductively turning the house key in the rejecting keyhole. He shifts a finger into a mini-scythe.

"Soul! Just a sec!"

Two seconds after the end of his patience, she swings the door open and steps aside for him to rush to the bathroom. She locks the door behind her and leaves the keys in. Hangs her coat and heads for her room just to pass by the unobstructed view of Soul flushing the toilet. She halts, ready to reprimand him, but finds she doesn't mind, not really. She settles for telling him to not sleep in the clothes he's wearing. Her scarf, his T-shirt and jeans are blindly thrown on top of his desk and he's in blue boxers, hand idly rubbing his shoulder while he shuffles for his pajama pants with eyes shut. She hands them to him and he slips legs in haphazardly. She whispers to him to raise his arms so that she can put a pullover on him, to make up for the lack of overgarments on the way. He falls on his bed and Maka has to pull the covers from underneath him and bring them over him while he grunts and whines. She doesn't bother with putting her own pajamas on and instead slips into his bed, taking advantage of his lack of self-congratulatory remarks.

He snuggles up to her and it's not before long that his hands have instinctively defied layers of clothing and found the clasps of her bra. His eagerness to please though, is equal with his sleepiness.

"You up for drunk, in the dark?" he whispers. The darkness and quietness of the house call for whispering.

"But I'm not drunk," she laughs and nudges his arm. He sluggishly raises it and she gets underneath it.

"Mm." With his eyes always closed, he nestles his head in the crook of her neck and leaves a kiss on her collarbone. "You never are," he says, sniffles and falls asleep.

She pulls one arm from under him and links it with her other to wrap his head in them . She'll worry about suffocating him in a moment, just let her stay like this for a little while.

* * *

Past perfect _is, _in fact, very depressing indeed.

She looks at the clock. 02:38 but she's not sleepy at all. She's perfectly sated in every way, lying on Soul's bed with Soul's breath making a spot on her neck especially humid.

Yesterday she sat on the floor to take her boots off and he had already taken his off and left them near the entrance of the house. His two shoes were parallel to each other but had enough space between them for her pair to fit in. She placed the inanimate objects there and felt tears well up in her eyes because she didn't think she'd ever seen anything better in her years of living. He came to see what was taking so long and said it should be 'the other way round 'cause you're the one with the spread legs' and then grinned and looked sheepish and told her he's sorry, he's a bad person but he just thinks of innuendos and has to share them. And she turned and kissed him, because, well, she's a bad person too and she thinks of innuendos too, she just doesn't really share them.

And the night before that, he'd told her about other girls and how he couldn't see what the big deal about sex was, but then s-she had so much as inched towards his pants and he finally understood. And he sat, cross-legged and naked, across her and she couldn't really imagine what it would be like in this house (in this town, country, continent, planet, solar system, galaxy, universe) if Soul wasn't a possibility whenever she thought about him. If he wasn't who he was with all the little things that made him who she knew him as. With his hands and his fingers and his shoulderblades and (his butt and his, ahh, other parts) his hair and his eyes and his _soul_. And how, how, how would she be defined if his soul hadn't mingled with and flowed into hers, and how can she rationally exist when her own soul has been sculptured in a permanent keyhole shape without his own key-shaped counterpart connecting and making it whole?

And now she finally gets why Shibusen bans meister-weapon romance, or whatever the hell _this _is. And she finally understands and it dawns on her that it really, _really, _actually wouldn't even cross her 'thinking too much, idiot' mind obeying Shibusen this time.

And Shibusen aside, did she ever have doubts about Soul himself? Shinigami help her (though she bets he would be politely and cheerily apathetic) if she does now. He is loyal and proud to the bone. _He loves her to the bone,_ he'd written it down. Chose the word 'bone' to pass it off as a Makachop-worthy sexual double meaning. But he made sure to show it to her that, well, both parts of the double meaning were very much true.

And can she just add that the way he frequently starts his sentences with 'listen' is one of the most pleasant things her ears have picked up?

Where do stupid Papa and other people's mistakes come into this? Nowhere. Who cares about dysfunctional human relationships. She was made to fit into Soul and Soul was made to fit into her long before they awoke to supreme battle skills. They chose one another out of so many others, didn't they? And it makes her just a bit irritated that the phrase 'I was made for you' or 'You were made for me' are thrown around so easily, but once again, she holds the studied truth in her hands and if they aren't perfectly matched equally as people and as partners too, then (just let her use Soul's mouth to speak once more) who the fuck is? She can't think (and that's a new for her) of a place she'd rather be in, a person she'd rather live with or a relationship she'd prefer. This is him and her, this is Soul and Maka and it's beyond any human endeavour for perfection.

* * *

She awakes to a shy sun's beams of light that come through the blinds and rolls to her left side to be greeted by half-lying-down, half-sitting-up Soul.

"Hi," he says.

She smiles and momentarily feels a great spinning ball of love for Papa form inside her, just because he contributed to her existence in this world and in this time. "Good morning. Hungover?"

He sighs and lets his head fall on the pillow. "No, 'm fine." He tucks hair falling on her face behind her ear. "Listen," he pauses. "Sorry for, uh." He nods and presses his lips together apologetically.

"No, it was fun. You were cute."

He turns on his stomach and presses his face on the pillow. "That's so not cool," he says in a muffled growl. She picks up a strand of hair from his head and examines it. The scarce sunlight slinking through is doing marvellous things to it.

"Ne, Soul," she calls.

"Mm?" She pinches his ear so he grabs her hand and pulls her closer, facing her. "Slept in your clothes, stuupid."

"You know what? I- I think I love Blair and Tsubaki and Black Star and Liz and Patti and Kid and Shinigami-sama and Papa and maybe Stein-hakase. Death City- I think I love everything. I think I love your bed and your room and your smell. I think you make me happy. You make me happy. I can't tell you I love you because that's just not big or long-lasting enough. There has to be invented a new word to..." She trails off at the disconnection of his hands from her skin. He slaps them onto his face and looks at her through the divide of two fingers. She pries his hands away and his face is flushed and steaming.

"Me too, you nerd." He bumps their foreheads together and they both breathe each other in. "Need you to wield me. You're useful, what with your anti-demon wavelength and all," he says, grin splitting his face and she smacks him on the head (with a hand! lightly! no promises broken here!). He laughs and it makes the mattress vibrate and maybe the planet vibrate, and maybe the world shift.

He rolls her on her back, or she rolls herself, there's no need to distinguish whose was each movement. He kisses her or she kisses him and clothes and sheets start to rustle in familiar ways. "I promised that we'd, ah, go get your buh-bike first thing in the mOHRNGH?" she starts but his knee pushes against folds between her legs and pointy teeth find her lips and are soon replaced by chapped lips. His kiss is mind-bogglingly soft and chaste but her right arm is already instinctively behind her back and he's laughing in a way that could maybe bring the dead back to life for the promise of such happiness. She hugs him tightly and looks to the ceiling but finds it isn't there because all that matters is Soul and how she's so lucky to be alive with him.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! Really, thank you lots and lots for reading this. Please tell me what you think, if you want and if you have the time.


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